Just A Few Months
by charliethedreamer
Summary: Captain Swan room mate AU: Killian Jones decides to rent out the spare room he has. Emma Swan - a bail bonds woman who has realised that to make ends meet she'll have to move in with someone - is the person he rents it out to.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or Once Upon A Time. *Sighs* If only I did. But seriously, don't sue me because I have no money._

* * *

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

Killian rolled over in his bed, raising a hand to his forehead to shield his eyes from the sunlight that was seeping through his blinds. He craned his neck, stealing a look at his alarm clock.

12:30. _Shit._ Was it really that late? He groaned, swinging his legs over the bed, quickening his pace as the knocking at the door persisted. _Impatient much?_

Times had been touch recently, the demotion certainly hadn't helped (not his fault his uptight boss couldn't take a joke - eh?), and so Killian had been forced to rent out the spare room that had been vacant since he had moved in. It was either that, or move out completely, and he'd grown fond of the two bedroom apartment that had been his home for almost four years - so he had considered that not an option.

He'd let the estate agent handle most of the room mate hunting, selecting the applicant he thought would do best, and after a brief phone conversation with the mysterious Emma Swan it had been settled. She would move in. _Today._

He admitted, choosing her wasn't his wisest decision. He'd had other applicants, ones willing to sign 12 month rental agreements, something that assured him financial security. Emma Swan - on the other hand - had specified that she would only be moving in for a couple of months, maximum, just until she could afford a half decent place of her own. He should probably have turned her down - chosen one of the other people. It was illogical, a nuisance...and yet, here they were.

It was typical of him really, choose the girl with the cool job (bail bonds woman - could it be any more of a turn on?) on the off chance she would be hot, and on the off chance she would be willing to offer no strings attached room mate sex, as a pose to the more financially beneficial option, but hey - you're only 26 once in your life, might as well have fun while you can.

He pulled a v-neck t-shirt over his head, buttoning up his jeans, and headed to door.

_Bloody hell_ was his first thought when he opened the door. She was looked far from amused - shooting him an annoyed look from over the large box she was holding as he stepped aside to let her in - and he gave her an apologetic smile.

For fucks sake, they didn't specify should be _that_ hot on her application...long blonde curls and sharp green eyes. She wore tight - very tight - skinny jeans, a black shirt with a red leather jacket that stopped at the waist, giving Killian the _perfect_ view as she stepped into the living room, setting the box down on the floor, putting her hands on her hips, taking second to look round the place.

He took a look into the hallway to see if there were any more boxes, but no...apparently just the one.

"Is that it?" He asked, nodding to the box which apparently held all her possessions.

"Yeah...I'm not sentimental." She said with a shrug.

He took a step towards her, holding out his hand for her to shake and giving her a smile. "I don't believe we've been formally introduced; Killian Jones, we spoke on the phone."

She shook it, and for a second Killian wondered if she had felt the small spark her touch had provided.

"Emma Swan."

She turned round, picking up her box and placing it on the kitchen counter, unloading some of the contents...some sort of ID...a gun..._handcuffs?_

"Getting kinky, are we?"

She rolled her eyes at his comment. _Okay, so not the joking type. That could work._ "They're for my job, _actually_." She told him.

"Ah - yes - bail bonds women, I remember now."

He gave her the general tour of the place (mugs go in this cupboard, cereal goes in that one, coffee machine there. That remote's for the tv, that one for the dvd player. That's my bedroom there, though I doubt you'll go in there much - not saying you wouldn't be welcome...), not so much registering what he was saying or doing, more just admiring the way her tight fitting clothes hugged her curves...and the way the two chains - one with a ring on the end, the other with a swan - she wore brought his attention to the creamy skin the relatively low hanging shirt revealed...not making much of an attempt to be subtle, which would probably explain the occasional dirty look she shot him. It wasn't like it was his fault, with legs like those it was hard to not stare.

She took her things to her room, and returned with her laptop under her arm, settling down on the couch.

He sat on the other side of the sofa, passing her the mug of coffee he had offered her, taking a quick look at whatever she was doing. "Are you...hacking into someone's email?" He asked.

"Yeah...its for my job..." She said absent mindedly.

_Well. This is surely going to be interesting._

* * *

Emma got into elevator, setting the cardboard box that held the few clothes she owned, her laptop and her few other possessions on the floor, pressing the button.

_Fuck her life._

This was the _last_ thing she wanted to be doing. Moving in...with someone else. Emma Swan had never really been a people person (to put it lightly) and when she had had to make the inevitable decision to move in with someone it was with great reluctance.

But, alas, with property prices in Boston sky high, and the bails bonds jobs available thinning out, she'd realised that paying the rent on the apartment she was currently renting, with bills and taxes and the like, it was impossible to make ends meet. She'd contacted a real estate, looked around some apartments, but - with the budget she had set - she'd realised if she wanted a relatively nice place, she had no other choice than to rent a room somewhere.

The doors opened on floor number five, and she made her way down the hall. This place had seemed nice enough; to be honest, Emma had only chosen it because it was the first place she had looked at where the owner was fine renting it on a month to month basis, something that was a deal breaker for her. She wanted to be able to move out when she had the money, and this _Killian Jones_ - the man who'd she'd talked to on the phone - was the first willing to offer her this chance.

_What the fuck is taking so long._ She tapped her foot impatiently as she waited outside the door, drumming her fingers against the cardboard box, until finally the door swung open.

Emma Swan had never been the _'swooning'_ type, not the sort of girl who giggles and blushes when guys talk to her - the sort who's cheeks redden when someone mildly attractive looks at them. That was most definitely not Emma Swan. But that didn't mean she didn't recognise someone hot when confronted with them, and _holy shit_, Killian Jones was definitely so.

His dark wash jeans hanging low on his hips, t-shirt hanging dangerously low, dark hair pushed back, unshaven and for _fucks sake_ she swore to god his accent had not sounded so sexy over the phone.

Such a shame he was an asshole. Not that anything could have happened; for starters, they were living together now, and you never start up a thing with a room mate. Not to mention the fact that Emma doesn't do relationships...not since...well, whatever.

But, you know, it would have been nice to be able to admire the way his shirt hugged his biceps...or the way the colour of his jeans brought out the colour of his eyes without having to think up some snarky response to the innuendos that Emma soon learnt he was very fond of dropping. He couldn't even show her around the damn apartment without making some suggestive comment about her being welcome in his bedroom. As if.

_Just for a few month_s, she told herself as she opened up her laptop, beginning the preliminary steps to hunting down her latest bail jumping shit head. _Just a few months...probably less._

* * *

_Hope you enjoyed. Next chapter will be up very shortly. _


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Sometimes I like to close my eyes and imagine I do own Killian Jones. But alas, I do not. I don't own him, or Emma Swan, or Once Upon A Time._

* * *

Emma Swan, Killian Jones soon learnt, was one of the most infuriating women on the face of the earth. She deflected his advances with apparent skill; his innuendos and cheeky remarks were always matched with snarky responses, firmly putting him in his place.

She had a quick wit and smart head: any petty arguments - the sort all room mates had - were won by her.

He watched her with intrigue as she carried out her daily life. She wasn't one for talking. Took all the bail bonds jobs she could get. He noticed other things as well. She liked her coffee black, her toast golden, her liquor hard. She rotated the same 3 leather jackets and kept her gun by her bed.

There was no evidence of any sort of friendship taking course in her life. Well, that was something they had in common.

For Killian, real friends - not co-workers you made small talk with or people you used to know in high school - proper friends, came in short supply. The closest thing he had was in fact his brother: Liam.

He saw his brother more or less every week; it was kind of a routine, Killian would go to the bar Liam worked at every Friday after work. Liam also came over occasionally, and did so a few weeks after Emma had moved in.

"Mate, whose is this?" He asked, picking up Emma's ID. He flipped open the black cover, his eyebrows shooting up as he saw the picture. "This your new girlfriend?"

_I wish._

"No." Killian replied, turning away from the fridge and kicking it shut, handing his brother one of the beers he was holding. "That's my new _room mate._"

"Since when do you have a room mate?" He asked with a frown.

"Since I needed the money." Killian worked for a shipping firm; mostly, the work was dull, but for the time and effort it paid pretty well.

"Well, where is this..." He checked the ID again "...Emma Swan?"

"Working." He said, taking the bar stool next to his brother. "She's a bails bonds person, got a call...had to dash."

Liam nodded. "Well, congrats on the hot roomie, mate. It appears I taught you well."

_Shame you couldn't teach me how to actually get her out of the leather and into bed._

"Shagged her yet? Or did she turn you down?"

He sighed. Yes. She had. And, let's just say, it wasn't a state of affairs Killian was particularly used to. On a regular day, the girls were all over him.

He was a dark haired, attractive, good dresser with a mysterious accent and a huge amount of sex appeal. And Emma, it seemed, was immune to it.

"I believe her exact words were: "you can cut the crap, _buddy_, we live together and I don't shit where I eat."" To this, Liam burst out laughing, something which earned him a glare from his brother.

"I like this girl. She seems fun."

"Oh, I assure you, she's anything_ but_ fun. She's a bloody nightmare." He said, going into the cupboard to grab a bag of tortilla chips.

"How so?" Liam asked, reaching out to take the bag.

"She's addicted to her job. She hates - it seems - everyone. She argues about everything, and I mean _everything_. You know what she did the other day?"

"What?" He was clearly enjoying this.

"She told me I stacked the dishwasher in the wrong way."

"_No!_" His brother said in mock scandalization.

"She said that for the amount of rent I was charging her, it was as much her dishwasher as it was mine, and that it would break if we didn't start doing things her way. She's a piece of work."

Liam snorted. "Sounds like someone has a thing for the room mate."

"I do _not_ have a thing for - " He stopped talking at the sound of keys and the scrape of boots against the door mat, and the sound of her voice: she was on the phone to someone.

"Yeah, I got him. Wasn't easy though - had to chase him for five blocks and he tried to block me by kicking over a fucking trash can, the son of a bitch - "

She swore a lot - another thing he noticed - something he found to be a ridiculous turn on. It only added to her _sexy-leather-jacket-gun-in-hand-knows-how-to-throw-a-good-punch_ disposition, one which he found himself undeniably attracted to. Who was he kidding? He _did_ have a thing for the room mate.

She stopped as she came into the kitchen, shutting off her phone as she registered the presence of her room mate and this new stranger.

"Hey." She said, leaning between the two of them to grab a chip.

"Liam Jones." He said, offering his hand for her to shake.

"This is my brother." Killian explained. "As you can see, I got the good looks." He said, gesturing to his face with his hand.

"Charming." She murmured.

"Always." He quipped back with a wink, his gaze following her as she moved around the kitchen, opening the cupboard and pulling out a bottle of vodka. Liam's eyes darted from Emma to Killian, a smirk etched across his face.

"Rough day at the office?" Killian asked, watching as she skulled her drink and poured herself another measure. _(She drank a lot too - another observation.)_

"Just because _your_ job is all computers and reports doesn't mean everyone's is."

Liam choked out a laugh. "She's got you there, mate." Liam's work at the bar wasn't very high maintenance. His girlfriend Ruby actually owned and ran it. He did gigs there - singing and playing guitar - and occasionally, with enough alcohol persuasion, Killian joined him.

Emma took her drink, picking up her laptop from the couch and making for her bedroom.

"You two have fun."

"Cheers, Swan." He said, winking at her.

He span round on the stool to face his brother, who had both his eyebrows raised.

"What?" Killian asked defensively.

"_Sexual tension, much?_" Liam said in a hushed tone.

His brother let out a groan. "Tell me about it."

It was true. And it was unbearable. There were moments were it took just about everything he had not to grab her by her leather jacket and pull her to him. They had arguments were all he wanted to do was kiss her to shut her up.

But - as previously mentioned - she was having none of it, so he channelled it into the various casual sexual relationships he had going on in his life, occasionally participating in more PDA than he otherwise would in a sore attempt to make his feisty room mate jealous. It didn't work. And it was bloody frustrating.

_Bloody hell Swan. You'll be the fucking death of me._

* * *

In the weeks post to her moving in with Jones, Emma often wondered if a crappy place with a shitty shower would be worth solitude. She'd had very poor expectations for her current living situation, but Jones was more annoying than she had deemed possible.

He was a pain in the ass, there was no doubt. He flirted non stop. And it was most definitely _non stop_. Emma told him where he stood, told him to cut the bull shit, and _still it_ was non stop. Could he not take a fucking hint? It was impossible to say anything without him turning it into an innuendo or sick joke.

He teased her and challenged her and half the time it seemed like he was deliberately picking fights with her. Emma wasn't the chatty type, and she really did not appreciate his attempts to make her talk.

_"So how come you don't have a boyfriend?" He asked, whilst Emma continued to flip through the channels._

_"I could ask you the same question." She said, not looking at him._

_"Why I don't have a boyfriend? Well that's simple, love - I'm straight. I thought you knew that though, considering you've called me a pervert on more than one occasion." That's true. She had. Because he was._

_"That's not what I meant, dipshit." Seriously, you can't even string along a normal conversation with this guy._

_"Still. I asked you first."_

_"Why do you care?"_

_"Just curious."_

_"Curiosity killed the cat."_

_"Well, look at you, being all cryptic. Is it wrong that I find it a turn on?" Oh, for gods sake. Did he realise that leaving a sentence alone and not turning it into a pickup line was possible._

_"You find everything a turn on." She muttered, rolling her eyes._

_"Only where you're concerned."_

_"Shut up."_

And then there were his night time activities. Girl after girl after_ fucking_ girl. Screaming and moaning into the early hours of the morning, and she was surprised the whole building didn't collapse from the banging of his headboard against the bedroom wall.

What's more, she swore he would act _deliberately_ sappy with them in the morning just to make her jealous ("coffee, sweetheart? Emma, can you pass Joanna here a mug?"). And Emma was _not_ jealous. She could just do _without_ the air heads - which was a very accurate description, considering they would probably struggle with 2 + 2 - hanging out in her apartment every other morning.

She just wanted to save up some money then move _the fuck_ out.

* * *

_A/N: So...there it is, chapter 2 (albeit a bit of a short chapter). Chapter 3 should be up quite soon, 5 days time max. Hope you enjoyed, until next time :) xx_


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. Imagine if I did...*a whole new world*...I don't own Once Upon A Time either._

_*Lays down chapter in front of readers and backs away slowly because is a lil bit scared about what they will think*_

* * *

"Hey. How's it hanging?" Ruby asked as Killian slumped down on one of the bar stools.

"I need a drink." He'd had a tough week. Three screw ups at work. Two arguments with Swan.

Ruby smiled. "Sure thing - the usual?" And went to pour him a glass of rum, putting it in front of him before turning her head to call to the other side of the bar: "Liam, your brother's here!"

His brother came over, catching the cloth that Ruby chucked him and beginning to wipe down the counter before him. "Honey - talk to your brother, he's in a mood."

Liam chuckled. "It's probably just Emma winding him up again."

Killian lifted his head. "I'm not in a mood - and if I was it wouldn't have anything to do with Swan."

Ruby looked confused. "And she would be...?"

"The room mate Killian's in love with."

_"I. Am. Not. Bloody. In love with her."_ He said through gritted teeth.

_"Denial..."_ His brother said in a sing song voice.

"Piss off." He grumbled, shooting him a dirty look, taking a sip of his drink. Liam turned to his girlfriend, who was messing about with the cash register.

"You should see him and Emma. Its ridiculous." Killian said nothing, choosing to keep his head resting on his arms. "So much sexual tension."

He let out a muffled grunt, although whether it was in agreement or disagreement it was impossible to decipher.

"Why aren't you two going out - is it the room mate thing?" Ruby enquired.

Liam filled in for his unresponsive brother. "Ah - see - that's the thing. They're both made for each other, they both fancy each other, the heat between them is unreal - " he sighed, shaking his head at Killian " - but they're both too bloody stubborn to admit it."

Ruby let out a short laugh. "Well, Killian, it seems you've met your match."

He attempted to shrug it off, going behind the bar - one of the perks of having a bar tending brother - to refill his glass. "Whatever."

He chose to say nothing further - he had no decent comeback, which was probably something to do with the fact that everything his brother had just said was, in fact, true - and instead just took another sip of his drink.

"I'll just be grateful when they finally do get it on -" he registered his brother saying "- maybe grumpy pants over here will stop moping -"

"Can we please talk about something other than Swan?" He snapped.

"Come on, Killian. Lighten up." Ruby said, putting an arm around her boyfriend's waist. "We just want you to find someone. I mean, you haven't properly dated anyone in ages...not since..."

He shot her a warning look, returning to his stool; he was having a crap enough week without _that_ topic being brought up.

"I'm gonna go set up the mic for later." Ruby said, giving Killian's shoulder a reassuring squeeze as she passed him. His gaze followed her and settled on the red head who was sat at the other end of the bar. He shuffled along until he was sitting next to her.

"Hey there." He said.

She looked up. "Hey."

"Can I buy you a drink?"

She lifted her head, giving him a smile.

"You can buy me two."

* * *

_Boring. Seen it. Seen it. Boring._

Emma brought the remote up, turning the tv off all together, coming to the conclusion that there wasn't anything worth watching.

_Maybe I'll just do some work._ She pulled her computer onto her lap, opening it. She had some background research to do; guy charged with theft, missed his court date, last seen in his apartment downtown.

The sound of keys in the doorway brought her out of her thoughts, and she turned her head to see her room mate stumbling in and - why was she not surprised - not alone.

He chucked his keys onto the side table, manoeuvring his way into the sitting room, not breaking apart from the kiss he and this new red-head were so absorbed in.

"Who's that?" The girl mumbled, shooting Emma a side ways glance.

"Just my room mate." He said, pushing her towards his bedroom. _Hello to you too, Jones._

She turned her attention back to her laptop, finding it difficult to concentrate after _that_ display. She told herself it pissed her off because it decreased her chances of a good nights sleep by a great amount. Not because, for some reason, seeing him with another girl - which she did a lot - irked her.

Emma let out a frustrated breath as the inevitable sex noises began, going to her bedroom in search of ear phones. _Maybe music will help._

She returned to the sofa, music now being blasted into her ears, and continued to work. _Work, work, work._

For some, a job is just a way to make money. For some, a way to keep busy, for some, a way to give their life purpose or some shit. For Emma, her job was a distraction.

A distraction from the harsher aspects of her past, a distraction from her fear of the future. A distraction from fear of the seemingly inevitable loneliness that was to come . And currently, a distraction from the fact that while her room mate was getting laid she was sat alone, doing work at midnight on a friday.

She let it distract her, she let it consume her. Not concentrating on the fact that she had no real plan or purpose in life, instead concentrating on the email this douche had received; giving her hints to his whereabouts in the upcoming week. She didn't notice when the noises stopped, only lifting her head as the door behind her creaked open, Jones slipping through the gap and closing it lightly.

* * *

When Killian opened the door, leading into the living room, leaving the red head - Katie...? - asleep, the first thing he saw was Swan.

She was sat on the sofa, computer open on her lap, probably working. She worked a lot. It bothered him. _All work and no play..._

He slipped out of the bedroom, making for the kitchen.

"Alright there, Swan?" He asked, flashing her a grin as he passed, getting himself a glass of water.

She always looked different when she was working. Brow furrowed, biting her lip in concentration. She seemed absorbed, focussed. Comfortable. Like this is what she knew, what she was familiar with.

There was something about her in this state. Hair up in a messy ponytail, wearing nothing more than a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. And yet somehow, even like this; no makeup, no effort, wearing those black rimmed glasses she sometimes wore, she still looked beautiful, certainly more so than the dolled-up bimbo who was currently lying in his bed.

She was another matter entirely. Killian had never had a problem with one-night-stands. To him, it was just guilt free, emotionless, free from attachment sex. Purely physical. What could be better, right?

And yet, when he was with her, when he was supposed to be enjoying himself...all he could think about was the blonde on the other side of the door - and he found himself wanting to talk to her, to flirt with her (or at her, more like), to fight with her, whatever.

He walked over, crashing on the other side of the couch, leaning over to pick up the remote and flicking on the tv.

"Don't you have...other matters...to attend to?" Emma asked, an eyebrow raised.

"She's sleeping, didn't want to wake her." He replied with a shrug. _I'd rather watch tv with you._

"Ah - the gentleman act again."

He smiled, turning his head. "Always."

_Boring. Seen it. Ugh - reality tv. Seen it. Boring._

"There's nothing good on." He grumbled. "Maybe we should switch tv plans."

Emma didn't look up from her laptop.

"Not really one for talking, are you Swan?"

She shrugged, again not looking up.

"See, most men would find your silence off-putting, but me, I love a challenge."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, I bet you do." See, this was fun. _This_ he enjoyed.

"I'm going to get you to talk." He said without a trace of doubt.

"Oh, are you now." She replied, raising her eyebrows, challenging him._ I accept._

"Yes. We're going to have a conversation, like normal room mates." He told her.

"Whatever floats your boat, Jones." She said, gaze still fixed on the work she was so absorbed in. _Put the laptop down and talk to me Swan._

"How was your week?"

She didn't look up, but a small smile crept onto her lips. "I sent two guys to jail, how was yours?"

"Well...less eventful, but you know, we can't _all_ be superhero's and send baddies to jail like you."

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head, clearly trying to hide the amused smile that was working its way onto her face.

"Killian?" He turned his head to see Katie stood in his doorway. "You wanna come back to bed?" And she licked her lips in a way that was probably supposed be seductive.

_No._

What was wrong with him. He had a gorgeous woman standing in his doorway, and yet he was reluctant to join her.

He pushed it aside; dismissed it as nothing. Standing up, his eyes met Swan's for a second, and he couldn't shake the feeling there was something there - but before he could identify it she averted her gaze.

He turned to the red head. "You try and stop me." _(It wouldn't be difficult)_ and he pushed her back into his bedroom.

It was meaningless, emotionless. It was everything he should like, should want. And yet, when he lay in bed, Katie curled around him, and arm slung over his chest, he didn't feel warm, or satisfied. He felt somehow empty.

Like he was on the wrong side of the wall.

* * *

_Apparently I have this issue where I can't write long chapters. I hope you enjoyed it anyway :) So we got some Liam and Ruby in this chapter (I don't know why I put them together but I like it :P) Next chapter will be up in like...a week? I think? OH and thankyou to all you lovely people for __reviewing, especially to those guests who I can't reply to. Until next time xx_


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: When I do own Killian Jones and Emma Swan, I'll let you know. But until then - don't sue me. I don't own once upon a time either. _

* * *

She hadn't meant for it to lead to this. She'd had a long day. Doing what she did - tracking and chasing - had its good days and had its bad days. Today was most definitely a bad day.

She'd got the job done, the guy was at the station, court date looming. But he hadn't been easy, tripping her up, resulting in a sliced face on a sharp pave stone. She'd ignored it, continuing the chase, only giving it any attention once the guy was firmly behind bars.

So, after a very reluctant trip to the hospital _("it's too close to the eye for proper stitches, so we'll have to make do with paper stitches - they'll need to be changed in about 4 hours, very important": Annoying doctor)_ she'd ended up in a bar, raising her glass to signal for another vodka.

And then there was him. Smiling, offering to buy her a drink. _What's the worst that could happen?_ One more drink. The bar was in walking distance from her house, so she didn't need to drive or anything. One more couldn't hurt - he was paying after all.

She hadn't meant it to lead to this. Her inviting him back to the apartment - he'd proposed leaving the bar - because it was closest, and in her drunken haze she really didn't fancy being alone.

But she didn't like this. Backed up against the door, his lips on her neck. She'd never had a problem with one night stands per say. I mean, sure, usually they were only_ one night_ because she refused to let them go further, but this...this wasn't right.

He was just too close and too keen and she was staring to sober up a bit and see why this might be a _really_ _bad idea._

She brought up a hand to his chest, pushing him away from her, lowering her gaze as he stumbled back.

"I - um - I think you should go." She said, trying to get past him so she could open the door to show him out.

"Come on Emma, it's just a bit of fun..." And he pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and it was a simple gesture, but during her training for being a bail bonds woman she'd been told to _trust your instincts_ and right now they were screaming to _get out._

"No...you should go. This is a bad idea." And she tried to shuffle away but he planted his hands either side of her.

"Maybe I feel like you owe me a little." She sneered, leaning in, his breath hot on her face and, god, it reeked of alcohol. _Ugh,_ she should have known he was a creep.

Catching him off guard, she brought up her leg, kneeing him in the groin, sending him tumbling back.

He scowled, bringing his fist up to strike her. _Shit, shit, shit_. How had she not seen this coming. It was fine though, she was a_ bail bonds woman_ for gods sake. She could take him - easy peasy.

But she never got the chance. A firm hand clasped around his fist, bringing that arm and the other one behind his back.

Emma stood aside, allowing Jones to open the door, pushing the guy out and shutting it behind him. She straightened herself out, running an agitated hand through her hair.

"All right there, Swan?" He said with a smile.

"You didn't have to do that, you know." She said quietly, following him as he went to the kitchen.

"Oh, I know." He said, banging about in the cupboards to find a glass. "I'm sure you could have beat him up and it would have been very bad ass, not to mention arousing - " (A comment that earned him an eye roll from Emma) " - but the thing is, darling..." He leant over the counter to her, enlarging their proximity, "I'm a sucker for a damsel in distress."

Emma scoffed, withdrawing herself. "I'm hardly a damsel, Jones." What did he think he was - her knight in shining armour? Please. Emma stopped believing in all _that_ a long time ago. Princesses in flowing dresses, being swept of their feet. Evil queens, 7 dwarves. True love and all that bull. See, when you're orphaned before you can even remember, and someone does what _he _did to her...you kind of stop believing.

"Most people would say _thank you, _Swan." He said, pouring him self a drink.

"Okay - _thank you _for helping get rid of the guy I was perfectly capable - and looking forward - to dealing with." She replied, and meaning it too. She sure as well was going to kick that guy's ass, teaching him that you _don't _mess with Emma Swan. She didn't need her flirtatious room mate stepping in and spoiling her fun...even if it did feel nice to know that someone has your back...but still. She was no _princess,_ no_ damsel in distress_, and she sure as hell didn't need him saving her or any of that crap.

Then again...she was _quite _drunk, and with the injury and all she probably wasn't on her best form. And _god _she had been so _stupid. _Inviting him back here when she had had all those drinks...and she had always prided herself on having such good instincts...must have been the drink clouding her judgement...or something else, she didn't know.

"_Without _the attitude." He quipped back, looking at her from over the top of his glass, raising his eyebrows. _Arrogant fuck. _She gave him her best _bitch please _look, pushing off against the counter and falling back into the couch, raising an involuntary hand to her head to feel her stitches.

"What happened there?" He asked, bringing his drink and going to sit down on his side of the couch. _Why do you care?_

"Pave stone." She said shortly, and that reminded her. _"Crap." _She muttered under her breath, going to her purse to pull out the paper stitches the doctor had given her. She went to the bathroom, fully aware that Jones was watching her every move.

She carefully peeled the stitches away, wincing only slightly as they exposed the wound. She opened the packet, looking in the mirror to see where to apply them but _fucking hell _they were difficult. Sticking to her fingers and not going where she wanted them - she supposed the drink didn't help matters there either. _"Shit." _She muttered, waving her finger frantically to try and get one of them off._  
_

"Need a hand love?"

She whizzed around, stitches still stuck to her fingers and she was pretty sure one was in her hair. As much as she hated to admit it, as much as she wanted to avoid the situation, she couldn't deny she did need help.

"Thanks." She handed him the packet, allowing him to take the stray ones off her finger. Shuffling around, he positioned himself so he was standing in front of her, and carefully lifted her chin, brushing a strand of hair from her face in a way that was really not necessary. He applied the stitches carefully, trailing the back of his knuckles down the side of her face before withdrawing his hand. _Shit. Is it hot in here? _It felt it. Maybe it was their proximity, or the fact that the bathroom wasn't the biggest, or the drinks. _You blame everything on drink. _But _god _she had known they had chemistry - she'd ignored it, naturally - but he was standing so close and there was a pregnant pause, Emma being the one to break it by trying to take a step back. But that _fucking bath_ that she would have totally tripped back over, if it hadn't been for his hand - _well, someone has good reflexes - _grabbing her wrist and keeping her steady. _  
_

She pulled it back, raising a tentative hand to feel his work. "Thanks." She said.

He stepped aside, letting her pass. "Any time, Swan." Jesus Christ, she didn't know if she could handle _another _one of those. Thank fuck she only had to change them the once.

* * *

It had been a quiet night. Work was - well, work. The apartment was quiet when he got home. _Wonder where Swan is. Wonder what time she'll be back._ No reason, just, you know. Wondering.

_Coffee. Tv. Nothing good on._ Swan never did voice her opinion on the tv plan thing. Maybe he should ask her again. More coffee. Clock. Not waiting for anything, though. Just, you know. Time.

He was tired.

_"Bloody hell, I'm tired."_

_"Too many late nights."_

_"How do you know when I go to sleep, Swan?"_

_Scoff._

_"We both know the answer to that one."_

_"Is that...is that jealousy?"_

_"In your dreams, loser."_

_Eye roll._

_"Please, Swan. My dreams of you involve much more than jealousy."_

_"You're insufferable."_

_"You love it."_

_"Fuck off."_

_"With all due respect, sweetheart, this is my place. You can't tell me to fuck off. You are - after all - just here for a few months."_

_"Yeah. Just a few months. That'd be right. "_

_Maybe I'll just call it a night._ He went to his bedroom, undoing the first few buttons of his shirt, pausing when he heard noises in the hallway. Probably just Swan, he thought, slipping off his shoes.

Wait - was that, a male voice? She...she wasn't alone. A notion he found very unpleasantly and annoyingly unsettling.

He told himself to ignore it. He'd had plenty of girls over, right? She was bound to get with someone. He was just glad she did - in fact - know what a sex life is.

That is, if that is what it was. It could be innocent. _Lets see._

He opened his door, sneaking a quick look down the hall way and there she was. With some guys lips attached to her neck - and somewhere along the line Killian's hands had clenched into fists.

He went to turn back into his bedroom - to leave them to it, after all he had no real problem: he was only a _little_ bit jealous - but that's when he heard it. Sneering.

_"Maybe I feel like you owe me a little..."_

And all of a sudden, he wasn't in his apartment with Swan. He was 4 years ago; the news of her death ripping out his heart clean from his chest, and that _what if._ That agonising _what if_ that haunted him into the depths of the night, creeping in, torturing him.

_What if I had been there._

Been there to stop him. Been there to grab his wrists, to stop him striking down, to stop the blow that put an end to his dear Milah.

He watched Swan knee him in the groin -_ there's a tough lass_ - and before the ass could lower his hand on her, the one balled into a tight fist, he grabbed his wrist, bringing it behind his back, along with the other hand - shoving him out the door.

He hadn't been there when she had died. He didn't care if it wasn't the same thing, or if she could handle it, or if he hadn't even been that out of line.

He hadn't been there, and he sure as hell was going to be this time.

Naturally, she denied ever needing his help. He hadn't expected anything less. It had been, what, three weeks since she had moved in? But if there was anything Killian had learnt about Emma, it was how _very _insistent she was on not needing anyone's help. Despite thus, apparently, she couldn't deny the mess she had found herself in when it came to changing the stitches on her injury. _Pave stone _she'd said when he'd asked her how she'd obtained the small cut that ran just below her eye.

_Thanks _she'd said when he'd offered her his help, giving him the stitches.

He'd known that him and Emma had a certain spark. They argued and flirted (well - he flirted with her, she rolled her eyes and threw it back in his face) and she gave him a challenge in a way he simply relished._  
_

But with one hand cupping her face, keeping her steady as he placed the small white stitches on the wound, he wondered if she also felt the heat charging through his veins. It was more than chemistry...it was _electric. _If she hadn't stepped back - and almost tripped over the bathtub in the process - he mightn't have been able to resist the urge to kiss her. But she did. And he did, letting her pass out of the bathroom, registering her murmured word of thanks before watching her retreat to her bedroom.

_So I suppose you felt that too, huh, Swan._

* * *

_Voila! Chapter 4! I hope you liked it. Someone asked for Killian helping Emma after she gets hurt on a job, and I liked the idea a lot. So I did it. I realised after I wrote it that it is quite like that Gremma scene...anyway, school is starting again soon so next update could take longer. Thanks for the reviews, keep 'em coming ;) until next time xx_


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: I don't own Emma Swan or Killian Jones or Once Upon A Time. I wish I did though. So, so much. *Sigh*._

* * *

Emma opened the fridge, surveying the contents: nothing.

"There's no food." She grumbled to Jones, who was stretched out on the sofa. She shut the door and went to check the cupboards again but to no avail; just cereal and at almost one on a Saturday she was _not_ going to settle for cornflakes.

She picked her keys and her phone, pausing before going to the door.

"I'm going grocery shopping, need anything?" She didn't want a repeat of the:

_"Did you go grocery shopping?"_

_"What does it look like?"_

_"Did you buy more pop tarts?"_

_"I didn't know we needed any."_

_"Swan, we were out of pop tarts. Of course we needed more pop tarts."_

_"I'm not your god damn mother Jones. If you want pop tarts then buy yourself some effing pop tarts."_

He lifted his head, an amused glint in his eye. "Yeah, condoms."

She let out an annoyed breath, rolling her eyes. "I'm not buying you fucking condoms Jones." She told him, turning to go to the door.

"Well, I better come with you then." He said with a huff, heaving himself of the sofa and pulling one converse onto his foot and then the other, hopping to where she was waiting at the door, her face wearing an annoyed but slightly amused look.

"Fine" She said with an accepting shrug of the shoulders, opening the door to leave, Jones on her tail.

* * *

She pushed the trolley though the aisles, turning her head as Jones came up from behind her, dropping six boxes of trojans into the cart, which earned him an incredulous look from Emma.

"I'm not paying for those." She said, pushing her cart further up and chucking some more boxes of pancake mix in.

"Why don't we just buy groceries for both of us an then split it?" He suggested, absent mindedly picking a box of brownie mix and reading the instructions on the back.

It wasn't a bad idea. Sure it was a little bit_ roomie-ish_, but buying in bulk did cost less, so why not. Plus, he ate all the food she bought anyway, at least this way she was getting some money off him.

"Okay." She said, moving onto the dairy section of the vast supermarket and piling three cans of whipped cream into the cart, having already put extra instant chocolate mix in there.

He followed behind her, hands in the pockets of his dark wash jeans, slightly lifting the plaid button down that hung open over his black t-shirt.

"No, get that one." He said, gesturing to the brand of milk that sat below the one she was going for.

"What's the difference?" She asked.

"I usually get the other one." He said as though it was obvious.

She shook her head, rolling her eyes, putting the carton back and picking up the one below.

"Happy now?" She asked in exasperation.

"Well, not really. It _is_ just milk." He said, returning his hands to his pockets. _Jesus christ_, could he not go a single trip to the grocery store without having him get on her nerves?

She pushed the cart forward with a little more force than necessary, almost crashing into the lady in front.

"Easy there, Swan." He said, putting a firm hand on the side of the cart to steady it. Please, she could handle a fucking shopping trolley, she wasn't five.

"You really didn't need to get so many pop tarts." She said, as she unloaded what seemed like the millionth box at the checkout point.

The lady at the cash register seemed amused. "You two make a cute couple."

Emma almost choked on her own spit.

"We are _not_ a couple." She told the woman, beginning to load the items they had bought into the shopping bags.

"No need to sound so offended, love." He said, taking a step forward to help her.

He leant forward slightly, talking to the cashier lady. "Alas, the tragedy of unrequited love..." And he did a dramatic sigh, the lady smiling at his humour.

"Oh, _ha, ha_ Jones." She said sarcastically, ignoring his short cry of pain when she jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. It wasn't her fault he was being so fucking annoying. _Unrequited love._ Prick.

"You know, it might be a slightly more_ tragic_ tale if it wasn't for the fact that you just bought half a dozen boxes of condoms." She said, counting them as she put them into one of the bags.

"And what if I didn't?" He asked, his voice adapting a more serious tone as he leant against the checkout bench whilst Emma put away the last of the items. "What if I stopped all that? Would you still not go out with me?"

It sounded different when he said it like that. Sure, he was flirty and annoying and made more innuendoes than one would hope to do in an entire lifetime, but Emma had just assumed he wanted to get her into bed or something shallow like that. When he put it like that...it sounded. Different. Emma couldn't decide if it was a good different or a bad different...it didn't matter really. She would still never go there.

"We live together, Jones." She replied, putting her credit card into the machine whilst he pondered her response.

"Okay, then, new scenario." He said, following her as she pushed the cart, now full of bags, out into the parking lot where her yellow bug was parked. "We don't live together. You've never met me before and I come up to you in a...coffee shop."

He continued to talk as he helped her transfer the groceries into the boot. "I ask you out. What do you say?"

What _would_ she say? I mean sure, she had been attracted to him when they first met, she supposed she still was, but it was physical - purely physical , nothing else, _absolutely_ nothing else - I mean, he was attractive. No point denying it. But when it came down to it Emma would probably say no to anyone. It was just how she did things.

"I dunno." She said honestly, shutting the boot and moving round to the front door. "I don't really do relationships."

"I noticed." He said, slipping into the passenger seat and clipping his belt in. "I wondered why that was."

"Oh yeah?" She said, pulling out of the parking space. "And what became of your _wondering._"

"Well at first I thought you might be gay - " he caught her eye for a second, checking her expression as if to confirm that that was wrong " - but then that didn't really explain your reluctance to trust me and divulge _any_ information about yourself that bordered on personal."

"Well what do you think now, _Sherlock Holmes_." She asked, giving the last part of her sentence a sarcastic ring. She admitted, she was curious as to what he thought, given he had been spot on the reluctance to trust thing.

"I'd say that once upon a time you did let someone in - you did trust someone - and they lead you to regret it." She didn't reply, just kept her eyes on the road, and she could feel him trying to meet her gaze.

"Am I right?" He prompted.

_Yes. One hundred percent. So right it's fucking annoying._

The truth was, Emma _had_ let someone in, and he _had_ lead her to regret it, massively so. She'd been helplessly in love, just a kid really. She'd put her complete faith and trust in him, and where had that gotten her? _A jail cell floor._

"You're not...wrong." She said carefully, and was annoyed when he sat back, a satisfied smirk playing on his face.

"See that's the thing, love. You're a bit of an open book." Really? That's something Emma had always prided herself on being not. And there he was, reading her, plain as day.

"Am I?" She said, not catching any answer he gave as she got out the car to retrieve the bags from the boot.

She didn't like that he could read her so well, that he'd been so quick to guess correctly about an area of her past she'd tried so very hard to hide. It made her feel...exposed. And in a way she utterly resented, and she couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't _all _to do with how he'd read her...but more to do with the fact it was _him. Him _reading her, _him _being able to understand her.

Emma Swan never really got close to people. If what Neal did to her taught her one thing, it was that getting close was dangerous. Getting close meant giving people power, the power to hurt you, to use you, to abandon you.

She was better of being on her own. People would insist that they would leave her, they would be different. She'd heard it a thousand times.

_I know your last foster parents sent you back, Emma, but I promise you. We won't. You're safe here, okay?_

They did. She wasn't.

_Tallahassee baby. Almost home._

After him, Emma learnt to shut people out. Only let them see the surface, because if they can see further they'll use it against you. Just like he'd done. She'd opened up about her past, her pain. The way she'd tried and tried to track down her parents...but with no results. The way _The Swans _had given her back after managing to conceive their own child. Like she meant nothing to them, like she was worthless._  
_

_I was chucked from foster family to foster family...no one loved me._

_I love you, Em. And I'm never gonna leave you, you hear me? Never. Now c'mon. Let's go to bed._

She kept her distance from people. Sure, she had no friends and no family. Christmas and her birthday were pretty dreary, sure, but it was a far sight better from what she'd had with Neal. Hurt, regret, that tiny piece of hope that made her thing that _maybe _it was a mistake, _maybe _he would come for her. Hope that got snuffed out with every visitors session at the prison when no one came for Emma Swan.

She'd done pretty well since him. Got out of jail, got a job. Worked hard. She put what she knew best to good use and made a life for herself as a bail bonds woman. She was tough, hard. No one messed with her.

But then there was him. This cocky charming room mate who'd read her past - however little - and called her _an open book_.

_Push him away _she told herself. _Don't let him in._

But when they got back to the apartment, when she could have easily retreated to her room with her computer, did some work, replied to some emails, she didn't. They unloaded the groceries together - _"You are so not going to eat all these pop tarts." "You're one to talk, Swan. You bought three cans of whipped cream today." - _and then she made grilled cheese sandwiches and he stole one of them, arguing that he paid for half of the cheese and half of the bread so it was fair play, really.

Then they argued about the TV because he wanted to watch football and she wanted to go onto Netflix and catch up with Breaking Bad.

_"Well that's no fun for me, love, because I don't watch Breaking Bad."_

_"Well that's not my effing fault, Jones."_

_"Can we at least watch from season 1."_

_"But I'm on season 4!"_

_"My TV, my rules."_

_"My Netflix account, my rules."_

_Stare off._

_"Bloody hell, fine. But you'll have to put up with stupid questions about the plot."_

_"Yeah, well, I have plenty of practice with stupid questions from you anyway."_

_"Oh ha, bloody ha. Just play already."_

She hated to admit it, because she'd insisted so strongly her whole life that she didn't need anyone's company, that she was _fine _on her own, but when she was hanging out with him, it was okay.

She actually had quite a good time.

* * *

_So that's chapter 5! Kind of short, I know. But alas, school is back and so is the heavy workload and lack of time to write. *Cries because misses the holidays were it was just writing whenever it suited* Anyway, another thankyou for follows, favs and reviews; they make my day, *GROUP HUG*. I will try to have the next chapter up ASAP. Love you all, hope you're all surviving the hiatus (better than me, at least), until next time xx_


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: For once, I would love to say that I do own Killian Jones. But I don't so I can't. Emma Swan isn't mine either._

* * *

The decision to go into the bounty hunter profession was a relatively easy one for Emma. Upon coming out of jail, she had no real qualifications; it was fair to say that school hadn't _really _been her thing. She'd been one of the typical _She's a smart girl, if only she applied herself _situations._  
_

Emma started thieving when she was 13. It started out small, making up for the lack of money and therefore snacks that her foster parents could be held accountable for.

It got a bit worse. If she needed notebooks and pencils and things for school, she would steal them. Nothing obvious or big, going nowhere where security was high or a quick get away was difficult.

She learned she was good at it; looking innocent, playing the good girl, being sneaky and sly. She only got caught a handful of times - mistakes she quickly learnt from.

Eventually, it moved on from shoplifting. Pick pocketing was easy enough; an apologetic smile as she 'bumped into someone' was often enough by way of a distraction for a hand to slip into a coat pocket and draw out a wallet.

It was illegal. Immoral. Wrong. And Emma didn't give two shits. Why? Because her whole life the world had been nothing but cruel to her. This was her fighting back. Years of complying to the rules - be good at the orphanage, be nice to your foster parents, don't cause a fuss, _behave yourself _- where'd that gotten her? _Nowhere. _So why bother?

It was easy money, however little. When she finally became of age and get the fuck out of the foster system, it escalated further. From bikes to cars, liquor stores to jewellery stores...and then the yellow bug in the deserted alleyway...the first part in a chain of reactions that put the whole thing to an end.

Until him, she'd always gone at it alone, and boy did she love having a partner. It was easier; one person for a distraction, the other to steal. The shared triumph when they were successful. _Maybe I don't have to go my whole life without being loved._

And then the cold hard floor of a jail cell when it all came crashing down and the harsh reality of what it meant to be punished for your crime settled in.

Sure, she hadn't committed the offence for which she had been charged, but somehow she felt like she deserved to be there. She had lead a life of dishonesty, and if she didn't believe in all that bullshit she'd say it was karma.

When she left that prison she didn't look back.

She'd wondered about her parents her whole life. _What did they look like? What did they sound like? Why the hell did they abandon her?_

And as her curiosity grew, so did her determination. Persistent questions to her foster parents. Phone calls to the orphanage that she'd first stayed at.

Scouring the web at the local library, stealing her foster parents credit card, putting down the numbers for "who are my parents?" Websites.

_Nothing._ She found nothing. Nada. Zip.

She traced her routes back to where she'd been found, and whilst her results had come to a disappointing conclusion she'd become pretty damn good at searching whilst she was at it.

When she left jail, she knew that that was what she wanted to do. Tracking. Chasing. And a lot of the time, she loved it.

Today was most certainly not one of those times.

_Emma ran down the sparsely populated street, carefully dodging those who littered the side walk, whilst at all times having her eyes focused on her target. Blue jeans, grey hoodie, 6 feet tall. Speeding offence. Not the first. Missed court date. Again, not the first._

_Emma quickened her pace as he turned a corner, and she could tell from the spilt second in which she caught sight of his profile that he was running out of breath. Gotcha._

_She turned into the street, eyes flicking to the bus stop - where a figure had a back to her - that was up ahead and for a second she swore her heart stopped. Tall. Brown hair. Slightly hunched shoulders. That coat._

_Neal._

_Her heart rate quickened until it was more of just a line, an endless hum of panic and regret; old feelings re-erupting until a crooked pave stone caught the edge of her foot and she tripped, stumbling until she hit the pavement with a harsh scrape. _

_She looked up it time to see the figure turn, her slightly hazy vision met with a crooked nose and protruding jaw, i.e.., not her ex. She let out the breath she didn't realise she'd been holding, picking herself up off the ground and giving a fleeting glance to the target of her mission who turned another corner at the end of the street._

_Fuck._

_She shut her eyes for a second before turning back the way she came, beginning the walk back to her where her car was parked, back to where the chase had begun._

Emma rarely let her emotions get to her. She'd become very good at bottling them, wearing a mask of indifference that very few could see past. Very few could be bothered to look. Except maybe one, and Emma was sort of glad that he wasn't around to see her like this.

Emma couldn't remember the last time she'd cried. Hell, she didn't even cry when Neal did what he did, but tonight, she just couldn't hold it.

A tear escaped her as she reached for a bottle of Jack Daniels, not bothering with a glass as she brought it to her lips.

She was just so exhausted and god dammit she felt like a failure letting that guy get away. She'd been so stupid, _so god damn stupid. _She'd let some ex-boyfriend-of-hers lookalike get to her head, and that guy had got away because of it. Nothing she could do about it now, really.

Continue the search from her laptop; email hacking, credit card hacking, heading out into the field again. The usual.

One tear turned into two, wiping them away with the back of her hand and subsequently making room for a third and a forth, tipping back the bottle of whiskey again, relishing in the burn that settled in her throat.

Her head snapped up as she heard a door open, and saw Jones emerge from his room. _Fantastic._

She tried as hard as she could to cover it up, turning and wiping away the remainders of the tears. She waited for the inevitable question:

"Emma, are you alright?" _No._ He looked genuinely concerned - he didn't often use her first name - as she approached the kitchen slowly, and she walked past him, bringing the bottle with her to the sofa.

"Fine." She said, trying to keep her voice as steady as possible.

"Yeah, you sure seem it." He heard murmur say from somewhere behind her.

"I said I'm fucking fine, Jones. Leave it out." She snapped because _jesus christ_ would he just leave her alone?

She went to take another gulp of her drink, finding to her immense annoyance that the bottle was now empty.

"Great." She muttered, chucking the empty bottle onto the rug and leaning her head onto the back of the couch, squeezing her eyes shit. Maybe she should just go to bed.

She felt rather than saw his presence, opening an eye.

He was standing slightly to her left, one hand in the pocket of his track pants the other holding out a bottle of tequila.

"That was the last of the JD so we're onto this now." He said, and she couldn't help the small smile that crept onto her lips as she took the bottle from him, un screwing the cap and bringing it to her lips.

He wasn't prying or pushing or making her talk. He understood. She didn't know how or why he did, but she was grateful, and didn't protest when she felt him crash on the sofa beside her, flicking on the TV.

"You like the American Pie films?" He asked, flicking through the TV options until Netflix came up.

"Yeah, why?" She asked.

"'Cause." He said, bringing his feet onto the coffee table and taking the tequila from her. "You don't wanna tell me what's up -" His eyes flicked briefly to hers "- so instead we're gonna get drunk and do a movie marathon."

Emma smiled in spite of her self, stealing back the bottle of liquor and bringing up her feet until she was sitting cross legged.

"Okay."

They were half way through the second film when Jones reached across her and grabbed the phone from the side table.

"Hungry?" He asked, already dialling a number he seemed to know off by heart.

"I guess." Was her response.

"I know a 24 hour pizza place..." He said, putting the phone to his ear.

"Hi, yeah...I'll take one large pizza with..um - " he mouthed the word _pepperoni_ to her and she nodded " - pepperoni" and he paused before giving their address and chucking the phone back onto the sofa.

The pizza came in about 20 minutes, Jones going to the door to fetch it, bringing it to the sofa and balancing it between them. It was heavenly. Whatever pizza place it was Emma wanted its number, and the fact that it was 24 hour was very useful, considering it was - Emma's eyes flicked to the clock that hung over the kitchen cabinets - 2:30 in the morning.

It was about 2 and a half hours later when the credits for _American Pie: The Wedding_ rolled, and having decided not to go into the spin off series, Emma pushed the empty pizza box onto the floor, heaving herself up off the sofa.

She walked - well, it was more of a stagger, considering the mission to get drunk had been well and truly fulfilled - back to her bedroom, putting a hand on her door frame before turning back around.

"Thanks for the...pizza." She said to her room mate who was just straightening up from retrieving the pizza box.

_And also thank you for not prying into my business like I was scared you might and instead offering me comfort in the form of stupid comedies, pizza and tequila._

Maybe he understood her better than she thought.

* * *

_Did you like? School is my excuse for what it lacks in word count. Thanks for reviews, follows and favs, they mean the world and I love you all to pieces. Sorry if there are typos but I'm uploading in a hurry, will fix any asap. Until next time xx __  
_


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: I don't own the thing, you don't sue me, you know the drill._

* * *

Emma shrugged of her jacket as she got through the door, chucking her keys onto the side table and making her way into the kitchen, eyes fixed on the coffee machine.

"Ah - Swan, good you're home." She frowned at her room mate who left his room coming to the kitchen, clenching and unclenching his fists in an agitated manner and was he wearing_ black tie_? Apparently so.

"I need a favour." He said shortly.

"You want a _favour_?" She said, filling her mug with coffee and going to get milk from the fridge.

"Yes, I know it's short notice, but I have a thing and I need you to be my date."

"Your _what_?"

"It's a work thing, I didn't hear about it until today, but I have to go and I need a date." He explained in a hurry.

"_Please_ Swan." He added in a pleading tone. She almost felt sorry for him, clearly he was in a compromising situation...but Emma Swan wasn't one for simply handing out favours. I mean, sure, he'd been pretty nice with the whole _mini-break-down-after-seeing-but-not-actually-seeing-Neal_, and thankfully, he hadn't pressed the matter, but still. It was something Emma didn't do; she considered it step one in letting people know you were easy to screw over.

"What's in it for me?" She asked, leaning on the counter and taking a sip of her coffee.

"What do you want?" He asked, catching on quickly. _Smart guy._

She pondered this, somewhat enjoying the leverage his position gave her.

"Dishes." She said simply.

"Dishes?" He repeated with a confused look.

"Yup. And TV. if I do this for you, you're gonna do the dishes so I don't always have to fucking do them, and I get first pick on what we watch on tv."

"For how long?"

"A month." _If I'm still here_ she added mentally, reminding herself that she was only meant to be staying here a few months.

"A month?!" He repeated , looking slightly horrified.

"Yup." She replied, making a popping noise as the word left her mouth.

"Fine, deal." He said, running a defeated hand though his hair.

"What exactly is it, then, this _thing._" She asked, wondering what exactly she had signed herself up for.

"It's this fancy...work...charity thing, I don't really know, I only got the memo about it today. I was just told that I had to be there because, well, I'm not exactly the bosses _favourite_ person, and that I needed a date."

She sighed, tipping back her mug to catch the remains of her coffee, putting the mug into the sink.

_Jones can deal with that._ She thought triumphantly, already enjoying what would become of this deal.

"Time?"

He checked his watch. "We gotta leave in...20 minutes."

Lucky for him she wasn't one of those girls who spent forever choosing what to wear. Speaking of which, "Dress code?"

"Short and tight." He said with a wink, and she raised an eyebrow, giving him a look that clearly said _bitch, please._

"You want this favour or not?" She asked, hands on her hips and head cocked slightly to the side.

"Sorry, love. The memo said black tie." And he gestured to his very formal get-up, one which Emma was only just beginning to appreciate. Black pants, white dress shirt, un tied black bow tie hanging around his neck.

She let out a sigh, going to her room and opening her closet. He was in luck, apparently, because Emma did have a dress along that line.

She hadn't really bought it willingly, having never anticipated needing anything of the sort, but once upon a bail bonds job the easiest way to get to a certain wanted guy was through some fancy seminar he was attending.

Although it didn't fill Jones's request for short, ending just below the knee with a pleat that ran up the lower part of her thigh, it was certainly tight; hugging her figure and emphasising her curves. The material was black and had a silk like quality; it was actually quite a nice dress.

She touched up her make-up a bit, pulling out the ponytail that had previously held her blonde curls, letting them fall around her shoulders.

She slipped into the heels that she'd bought to accompany the dress, heading out into the living room where Jones was leaning against a wall, having finally found it in himself to do up his bow tie.

"Well, don't you look beautiful." He said, lifting his head as she walked out. "You know, you should be my date more often."

"In your dreams." She told him as she passed, heading for the door. He got to it first, opening it and speaking into her ear as she walked through.

_"Every night."_

* * *

"Come on Swan, it wasn't _that _bad." He said as they walked through the door, walking past Swan as she kicked off her heels and collapsed onto the sofa. Who the hell was he kidding? It had been just as mind numbingly dull as he anticipated, although, he noted, Emma's presence had made the evening go by a little faster.

"I just don't know how you put up with those people. I mean, they were just so..."

"Dull? Boring? Couldn't scrape up enough personality to fit it onto a single side of A4 paper?" He suggested, taking a bottle of vodka from the cupboard and bringing it to the sofa, tugging at his bow tie until it fell around his neck.

"Yeah, that'd be about right. But seriously, you have to _work _with those people. _Every day." _

"Yes, I know." He said, taking a long gulp of the drink from the bottle and passing it to Emma, who accepted it, bringing the bottle to her lips.

"I just don't see how you don't shoot yourself." She muttered, reaching down the side of the sofa to find the TV remote.

"I get by, you know, making jokes that they don't get, sometimes getting demotions because of it."

She chuckled at his comment, finally locating the TV remote and switching on the TV. She looked good when she smiled. She should smile more often.

She stitched over to Netflix, frowning as she flicked through to where they had gotten up to in Breaking Bad.

"What episode did we get to?" She asked.

"5th." He replied, settling back into the couch.

* * *

Killian ran a thumb down the various options for the coffee machine, trying to make up his mind on what he wanted.

_Decaf? Espresso?_

"Hey, Killian." He turned to face Belle, a co-worker who had just appeared, clearly with the shared intention of getting a hot drink.

"Alright, love?" He said with a smile; the Australian brunette being one of the few people he could actually stand in this hell hole of a workplace.

_Decaf_ he thought before decidedly pressing the button.

"Did you have fun last night?" She asked him. _  
_

"Yeah..." He said absent mindedly, taking his coffee from where it sat on the machine and loading it with sugar and the pathetic little milk pots.

"Your date seemed nice." She said with a smile, eyes flickering to him briefly, as if to catch his reaction.

_You have no idea._

He hummed in approval as she stepped forward to select her proffered beverage.

"I'll let you into a secret, love." He said, leaning against the wall and taking a sip of his drink.

"She wasn't really my date."

She turned her head to look at him, her expression a mix of confusion and surprise.

"How so?" She inquired, tapping her fingers against the counter top as her cup filled with hot chocolate.

"She's actually my room mate."

She frowned, "You guys aren't a thing?"

"Nope." He replied. _She made pretty damn sure of that._

"Hm. Well, I gotta say, Killian, I'm really surprised. I thought you two had a real..." She paused, clearly searching for the right word "...connection."

He swirled his coffee around in his mug before bringing it to his lips. "So I've heard." he said to himself as a memory swam into his mind, one of his brother being a typical know it all.

_"You know, Liam, your insistence that me and Swan are going to hook up -"_

_"Swan and I."_

_"- is _almost_ as annoying as your tendency to correct peoples grammar."_

_"I wonder if it's as annoying as you constantly denying the connection you and Emma have."_

_She's the one denying it not me._

"Don't know what to tell you, love. Just my room mate." _And a short term room mate_, he added to himself, not forgetting that she'd moved in after making it clear that as soon as she got the money she would be moving out. Something about that fact pulled at his heart a little bit, but he pushed the disgruntling feeling away. She would move out, he would carry on the way he was before, maybe get a new room mate if he still needed the money...a room mate...who wasn't Swan? Fine. Absolutely fine. Nothing wrong with that at all. Or maybe he'd just go back to living by himself. _And maybe never see Emma again. _He tried his hardest not to let that notion bother him, turning back to Belle.

She smiled at him - a smile that seemed to scream a sarcastic _whatever you say_ - picking up her drink and passing out of the small office kitchen, leaving him to his musings of blonde hair and green eyes.

* * *

_Chapter 7! Very short, I know, but apparently that's my style. Again, thanks for your reviews, follows and favs, you're all such sweethearts! You make me wanna write more :D. Do you think I need a book cover thing? Maybe I'll make one if I get time...anyway, will try get next chap up asap (although school is being a bitch at the moment...*mutters* fucking school). Until next time lovelies xx_


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: I asked for Killian Jones and Emma Swan for Christmas but I didn't get them so nope, still don't own them. Or Once Upon A Time._

_This chapter gave me feels. Enjoy :) _

* * *

Emma liked to keep herself busy. As busy as she could get. Busy was good, busy kept her distracted, _busy_ kept her safe. Because what to do get when you're not busy? _Boredom. _And boredom leads to idle thought - raises questions such as: _What am I doing with my life? Where am I going? _Questions that some might be able to handle. Questions that some might have answers to. But not Emma. So busy it was.

Work. Phone calls. Another douche - sometimes a man sometimes a woman. Tracking down - what she did best. Chasing - kept her fit. Station. Cell. Cheque. Home. Jones. Roll eyes. Hide smile. Bed. Repeat.

And _boy_ - does time fly when you're busy.

Emma shut the door to the apartment, pulling off her hat and stamping her feet to get rid of the snow. "Fucking snow." She muttered, heading to the kitchen to get some coffee.

"Good to see you're getting into the holiday spirit, love." She lifted her head, shooting her room mate, who was stretched out on the sofa, tv remote in hand, a confused look. _Holiday spirit? _

He was wearing a suit today. He wore suits to work sometimes; probably when he had meetings or something. His jacket was slung over the back of the couch, tie in a heap on the coffee table, shirt untucked, top few buttons undone. Not that she was looking...oh hell, of course she was fucking looking.

"Come again?" She asked, pressing the button to start the coffee.

"You know, Christmas and all that." He said, waving a hand. Oh god, how could she forget. The annoying lights, repetitive adverts, stupid songs playing on the radio that seemed to start sooner and sooner each year. _Probably because more get made every year, they have to start sooner to fit them all in. _

"Christmas? _Again?" _She said with a groan, turning around at the sound of the coffee machine clicking off. She took a mug, passing one to him as he got up to get his caffeine fix too. _  
_

"Well - yes - it is an _annual _thing." He said, taking the pitcher from her once she was done with it.

"And what do you do to celebrate this _wondrous _holiday?" She asked, going to the sofa. _She_ sure as hell never did anything. No turkey or meeting up with family for her. She sat at home - there were usually no jobs at Christmas - and treated it like a normal day. Bit of TV - at least she knew that netflix would never leave her - maybe order in Pizza.

"My brother and his girlfriend come over." He said. She wondered what it was like to have family to share Christmas with.

"Do you do the whole turkey-dead-tree-pulling-crackers thing?"

"Oh look - she _has_ heard of Christmas." _Very funny Jones. _"And no. None of that. I think we're ordering Chinese this year." He met her gaze. "You're welcome to join us."

She considered it, thinking that she might as _well_, it's not like she had anything better to do on Christmas, plus the fact she loved Chinese food.

"Thanks." She said, her eyes briefly locking with his before turning back to the tv, where the news was playing.

"And don't worry Swan," He said, leaning in slightly. "You don't have to buy me a present."

Emma, rolled her eyes. "I wasn't going to." She lowered her voice, now not so much speaking to him but to herself. "I don't do presents."

_A whispered "He didn't get me any presents." and a cautious look up to an unrelenting foster mother._

_A sneer. A laugh. A "Why would he. You haven't been a good girl." _

_Every year she tried to be a good girl. She prayed for at least one present, like the other kids at school got. She wanted to be like them too, to come back in the new year with stories of teddies and bikes that must have cost a fortune, but santa made do because they've been good children. _

_Maybe it doesn't work like that._

_The next year, Emma didn''t pray for a bike. She stole one - and prayed for forgiveness._

_A few foster parents and police warnings later, all praying had stopped. This was the real world, and in the real world, Christmas sucked dick._

* * *

Liam was all Killian really had in the world. His mother had died giving birth to him, such a cruel world is one in which life can also be the cause of death. Liam was four, and so is able to recall her soft blue eyes and chocolate brown locks, and on occasion Killian would be treated to stories of her kind nature and forgiving heart.

No wonder their father was so sorry to see her go. No wonder he blamed Killian.

Today, Killian knew full well what it was like to have someone you love so dearly die, and knew what it was like to replay that death over it your head, thinking of all the things that could have prevented it.

Now, he supposed he was that thing. He supposed that was the reason their father left when he was 14. He supposed if there was a silver lining it was that Liam was 18, a legal adult, which prevented his fall into the grasp of the foster system.

They were all each other had in the world (well - Liam had Ruby...and he had had _her...) _and so it was obviously fitting they spent Christmas together.

Christmas had been a grim ordeal at the Jones family. It wasn't so much they were poor, more just the fact that their father simply loathed the holiday.

Time _does _heal all wounds - so to speak - but there are certain days each year which are just too much. Birthdays, anniversaries, and for their father, Christmas. So it was more or less cancelled. A funny thought really, cancelling an international holiday, but there you had it.

But, after his disappearance, each year became a bit less grim. And so a routine was established. No tree or presents or any of that, just tv and takeaway. It was fun, nice.

And this year, apparently, Swan would be joining them. Liam wouldn't mind, he liked her - not to mention he was relentless in his insistence that he and Emma would end up together - as for Ruby, she would be _delighted. _She had been dying to meet Emma.

_"She probably wouldn't like you."_

_"Why not? I'm awesome! __Honey, tell Killian I'm awesome."_

_"You're awesome, sweetheart, and I love you." Kiss._

_"She still wouldn't like you."_

_Pout. "Why not?"_

_"She doesn't like anyone."_

_"She likes you."_

_Scoff. "No she doesn't."_

_"Well, no, but it's kind of a love-hate thing you guys have going on. That's what your brother said anyway."_

_"Yeah, well, my dear brother doesn't know shit." _

_"Hey! Heard that."_

* * *

Emma awoke on Christmas morning with a blistering headache, courtesy of a staying-up-too-late-and-drinking-with-Jones hangover. She climbed out of bed, rubbing her temples, slipping into her hoodie.

She was greeted with the smell of coffee and a "Merry Christmas, Swan." from her room mate, and she made a beeline for the cupboard where the pain killers were stored.

"Merry Christmas my ass." She grumbled, washing down the pills with a glass of water. "How much did we drink last night?"

"Too much." He agreed. "Coffee?"

She accepted the offer, taking the pitcher and filling a mug.

Christmas morning television was as bad as it could get - Christmas specials from TV shows that had been going downhill for a long time. Emma often thought that when it came to long time running shows if all the original cast had been killed off then maybe it was time to draw things to a close. But, apparently the writers of various soap operas disagreed, so she decided just to flick it onto the news; not that anything interesting was going on, apparently people were too distracted with Christmas.

Liam and his girlfriend - Ruby, was it? - came over at 4, by which time Emma was fully dressed in dark blue jeans and slim fitting grey jumper. It was Jones who opened the door, letting his brother - who Emma had met a handful of times - and Ruby in.

And - as it turned out - Liam's taste in woman was significantly better than his brothers; Ruby was a delight.

Emma had never really had friends. She'd learnt to keep to herself over the years; foster brothers and sisters, plus a few orphanages, had taught her that she was more of a lone wolf.

_"Look, it's the new girl." The boy - a twelve year old with mousy brown hair and sharp eyes - approached her, two more boys and a girl standing behind him. They were standing in a v formation that looked like something from a bad disney film._

_Emma looked up from her book, arching an eyebrow in question. "Can I help you?"_

_The four of them took the chairs next to her, the girl wearing a pout that she supposed was meant to look tough, her black hair scraped up into a side ponytail. Yep. Bad disney film._

_"Well, you're new here...and we just wanted to lay down some ground rules." The oldest boy said, carefully prying the book out of Emma's hand. She didn't bother reaching for it, sharp green eyes following movement._

_"Listen up, blondie, here's the deal. We got here before you. This place - " he said, gesturing to the sitting room of her new foster home "- is our place."_

_"Is that so?" She said with a sarcastic smile that made the boy narrow his eyes._

_"Yes. We get first picks on everything, food, clothes, shoes, whatever. You -" and he pointed a sausage like finger in her direction "- are at the bottom of the pile."_

_A small smile tugged at her lips, she knew how to handle these kids. You couldn't just agree with them, that would get you nowhere. You have to hold your own. The more of their shit you take the more they'll give, simple as that._

_In one quick motion she put her fist around that finger, twisting it around the back of his hand and using it as leverage to twist his whole arm around his back, causing him to flinch in pain._

_"How about you listen to me, kid." She hissed in his ear. "This isn't my first home and probably won't be my last. You stay out of my way..." She put her foot on top of his, applying pressure and making him grit his teeth in pain "...and I'll stay out of yours." She finished letting go of his hand and moving her foot off his._

_"You little bitch." He muttered, drawing back his fist and taking a swing at her. Please. Emma dodged it easily, send her fist into his jaw in return. She watched with a satisfied smirk as he stumbled back, reaching up a hand to touch where her fist had made contact._

_She reached out, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him towards her, keeping their faces inches apart. "Perhaps you didn't hear me. Stay out of my way." And releasing him from her grip, she returned to her chair, picking up her book as she did so._

_The boy shot her one more dirty look before retreating from the room with his little posy in tow._

It was hard to leave the system and still have the energy to make friends. Especially when no one went through it with you.

Not to mention the fact that all the women Emma met seemed to be the same: _S__o why aren't you dating anyone? How long have you been single?_ _What about him? _Emma proffered solitude.

But Ruby seemed...different. She had a nice smile and kind eyes, and laughed in a way that was simply infectious.

The food arrived and Jones went to get it, and of course, it was as good as one would expect. Emma had never considered learning how to properly cook, she knew how to make tacos and pasta and stuff like that, but when you have takeaway, why bother learning further? It wasn't like she would ever have a family or anything to cook for.

Plus, you couldn't beat Chinese.

After they ate Liam and Ruby had a mini remote war trying to pick a movie to watch, Emma meeting Jones' eyes from the arm chair she was sitting on, given that Ruby was occupying her spot on the couch.

Not that she really had a spot. This wasn't really her place, just a temporary arrangement, right? In fact, she could be quite close to affording a new place now.

Oh well. Not something to be musing at Christmas, when she decided to move out she would. And it would be fine, perhaps nice not to have a room mate anymore. Although there was a small voice that told her she sort of liked having a one. Liked him. But only because he could keep up with her drinking. In fact a lot of the time she didn't like him. Right?

Ruby and Liam finally shut up; Ruby winning the argument, most likely because - and it was pretty easy to see - Liam was whipped.

They watched the film, some horror one about wear wolves; it was actually alright. It was drawing to a close when her phone rang. Who the hell would be calling her on Christmas?

She pulled the phone out of her pocket, groaning at the name that flashed up on the screen. _Really? Now?_

Emma usually chose to work alone, but when a curly haired bloke named Graham had approached her with a proposition for a joint job - one that was quite high profile and well paid - she accepted.

They were chasing a woman, Karen Granger. The charge was quite severe, major embezzlement by the sound of it, but she'd packed her things and taken off in the nick of time. Tracking her wouldn't be easy, cue the partnership. She was a sneaky woman; good at covering her tracks, so Graham had reasoned it would be easier not to track her down, but to lure her in. He'd explained briefly how he planned on doing it; real computer wizz by the sound of it, and he said he'd give her a call when the subject was in the area.

She supposed that was this call.

"Graham?"

* * *

Killian watched as Emma stood up, her phone pressed to her ear. _Who the bloody hell is Graham?_

"Really? Now?" She said, heaving herself up off the sofa and tugging on her boots. _Where you going, Swan?_

"Okay. I'll see you when I've got the bitch." And she hung up, stuffing the phone back into her pocket. She was taking a job? She said she didn't work on Christmas.

"Who's Graham?" He asked immediately.

"Guy from work." She muttered, still looking at her phone. _Guy from work._

"Anyway, I just got a call, so I have to go, but it was nice to meet you Ruby and thanks for the Chinese." She gave them a short wave before turning on her heel, slipping into her jacket - red this time. He liked the burgundy one.

"Merry christmas, Swan." Killian called after her, smiling as he caught her _yeah, yeah_ before the door clicked shut, his gaze lingering on where she'd left.

"Oh my god." Ruby murmured, drawing Killian's attention from the door.

"What?" He asked.

"You're in love with her."

Killian nearly spit out his beer. _In love? With Swan?_

"Excuse me?"

"You're in love with her - for real." She repeated, turning to Liam looking positively gleeful. "He's _actually_ in love with her."

"Okay, I have no idea where you got_ that_ idea from." He said crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

"I'd say she got it from the way you look at her, mate." Liam piped in. Great. So they were joining forces.

"Whatever." He grumbled, trying to turn his attention back to the movie, but apparently luck was not on his side, given the credits had just started rolling.

"So you're not denying it." Ruby said. Was he?

"I am denying it." Killian replied, although without conviction; not meeting her gaze and keeping his eyes fixed on the television.

"Then deny it." She said. "Say _'I am not in love with my very attractive and cool room mate, Emma Swan.'_"

"Jesus Christ, Rubz, sounds like you're the who's in love with her."

"Just fucking say it Killian. And then we'll get off your case."

"Fine. I am not in love with..." But he trailed off. He wasn't, right? He just fancied her. That's all. She was attractive, like Ruby had said. Beautiful, even.

He tried to himself it was just physical attraction, but images of her laughing kept popping up in his brain; those few times he actually managed to make her smile, not smirk or smile sarcastically, but actually smile, and how it made him..._feel._

Images of them drinking when she'd been upset. The feeling at the bottom of his stomach when he'd caught her crying. The desperation to know the cause but knowing he should leave it out. Getting drunk and watching movies. Laughing at the same parts because apparently they had the same sense of humour.

How she had walls he was desperate to climb behind. A troubled past he was desperate to see.

How she argued with him and even yelled at him sometimes and how he wasn't even listening because he was too busy watching the fire behind those green eyes, a fire that never seemed to go out.

How sometimes she'd have bruises on her fist where it'd made contact with someone's jaw and how she sent people to jail and acted if it was no big deal.

How she acted to strong, so brave, but he could see there was someone behind the walls. Someone less so.

"_Bloody hell_..." He muttered in realisation, rubbing his eyes furiously.

"Bloody hell indeed." Liam said, putting his arm around Ruby's shoulder, who was looking quite smug at the accuracy of her observation.

"Took you long enough." She said before clapping down a hand on Liam's knee. "C'mon, we should get going."

They stood up to leave, Liam putting a hand on Killian's shoulder as he past him. "Bye, mate."

Ruby pulled her coat of the coat hanger, slipping her arms into it. "Bye, Killy, thanks for the chinese. Oh, and good luck with the whole being-desperately-in-love-with-Emma thing."

"You guys suck." He called over his shoulder.

"We know." Ruby chirped, heading out the door, Liam shutting it behind them, leaving Killian alone and Emma with _Graham from work_. He swore she didn't have co-workers, she'd said herself she didn't like people.

_"D'you like me?"_

_"Eh."_

_"What does 'Eh' mean?"_

_"'Eh' means you're annoying, but I put up with you because I prefer not to be homeless."_

_"Such high praise."_

_Eye roll._

_"Besides, I think you do like me. You just don't want to admit it."_

_"Oh, really."_

_"Yup." Pause. "I like you."_

_"Do you now?"_

_"Mm-hm. You pay the rent on time, don't make a mess of my place. Plus, you're a good drunk and you don't watch all the crappy soap operas other women seem to."_

_"Ugh, I can't stand those."_

_"See. I told you we get along."_

"Merry fucking Christmas to me." Killian muttered to himself, downing the last of his beer before going to get himself something stronger.

_I wonder when Swan'll be back._

* * *

_Voila! Chapter 8! I liked this one :) Hope you did too. Not much CS interaction but i'm thinking the next chapter might make up for that *heheheh*. And someone asked for Graham as a work friend and Killian getting jealous and I liked it so I did it. Thanks for reveiws, favs and follows, again, love to all to the moon and back xD Also I'm uploading this when I should be studying for a chemistry test so when I get a bad mark I'm gonna blame ALL OF YOU. Until next time, darlings xx_


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: Still don't own the thing._

_*throws feels at your face* want some?_

_My main muse for this chapter was Heartbeat by Scouting For Girls...it's not really mood music, but it's what I wrote this chapter to. If you want go find it and listen to it because SUCH a good song :)_

* * *

When Emma got back to the apartment it was almost one.

_God _she'd had a tiring night.

Luckily, this Graham guy had done his homework. He gave her an address and sure enough, the subject was there in all her tight waisted, red lipped, raven haired glory.

But she was smart too, extremely good instincts. Somewhere along the line she had picked up on the fact someone was following her, taking odd routes through the streets - streets that were alive with the Christmas spirit - and quickening her pace to make sure. From there she took off in a run, and a fast one at that, and in heels no less. There were times where Emma thought she might lose her, but she didn't, catching her and encasing her pale wrists in cuffs.

_"We did it." Graham said, handing her the cheque for her efforts._

_"Yeah." She replied with a smile; worn out and eager to get back home where her bed would be waiting for her. She may not celebrate Christmas but either way, this still wasn't exactly her idea of a fun night._

_"I should get going." She said, pulling on her jacket and making for the door of the station._

_"Unless..." He interjected, sidestepping her so he was blocking her way. "You wanted to go get a drink...?" He was kind of sweet in a way, brown eyes twinkling hopefully, and Emma tried her hardest to push thoughts of sparkling blue ones from her mind._

_"Sorry, Graham, I think I'll pass. It's been a long night, I need to get home." She tried to step past him but he took a step back, again blocking her way out._

_"Then another night - dinner." He proposed. Great. He was asking her out. On Christmas night. At...11:30 am...fantastic. She tried her best not to wince._

_"Listen Graham, You're a nice guy...but I'm not here to flirt, so, thank you...but no thank you." She said, trying her hardest not to be mean or brash. After all, it wasn't his fault, Emma just hadn't been on a date - a real one, not a bail bonds ruse - in a really long time. And she didn't intent on breaking that streak anytime soon. She couldn't really see the point. The few relationships she'd attempted after Neal had been inevitably terminated by her inability to trust. She had no intention of shagging Graham - he wasn't really her type after all; Emma preferred dark hair, not sandy curls - so what was the point?_

_He smiled in submission, stepping aside to let her pass. "Night Emma." He said as she left the station, catching her "Night, Graham." As she'd pushed open the door and exited through it._

It didn't really surprise Emma that Jones was still up, after all boxing day was a public holiday so it wasn't like he had to work or anything the next day.

She unzipped her boots and slipped off her jacket.

"Oh, you're back." Jones said, arching his neck from over the sofa.

"I'm back." Emma confirmed with a sigh, sinking back into the couch.

"I thought you said you didn't work on Christmas." He asked, curiosity lacing his features.

"This was a special case, no set time for it. It was just about when I got the call." She explained, stifling a yawn.

"The call from...Graham, was it?"

"Mm-hm."

"I thought you said you worked alone. Part of that slightly-hostile-approach-to-other-human-beings thing you have going on." He said, waving a casual hand in the air.

"High profile case, I needed a partner." She said shortly, getting up to satisfy her sudden graving for hot chocolate.

"So he's just a work partner?" He prompted, and she could tell he was trying his best to keep his voice causal. Was that..._jealousy? _Emma's stomach twisted slightly at the notion before pushing it down as far as it would go.

"Yup." She said, turning around to get a mug, trying to ignore the feel of his stare.

* * *

Ruby and Liam's bar had been shut on Christmas day, as it was every year, but two days later it was back and in full swing when Killian pushed through the doors.

"Hey, Killian! How's my favourite love-sick bad-boy?" Came Ruby's voice as she leant over the bar to pinch his cheek playfully, a gesture he tried his best to pull away from.

"Piss off." He grumbled, walking round to get himself a beer.

"Okay, but seriously how's that going?" She asked, running a dish towel through her fingers, her bottom lip caught in her teeth as she eagerly awaited his reply.

"How's what going?" He said, knowing full well what he was referring to.

"The whole un-requited love thing. You got a plan?" Oh great, it was a _thing_ now.

"A plan for what?" Liam said, reappearing from the store room and unloading some beers from the crate he was holding into the fridge under the bar.

"We're talking about Killian's plan for winning Emma's heart now that he's realised that he's head over heels in love with her." She said brightly, twirling s strange of dip-died hair in her manicured fingers.

"Will you stop?" Killian said with a groan, popping off the cap for a bottle of beer and taking a long swig.

"I'm not _head over heels, _there is no _plan." _Lie. Truth.

"What do you mean there's no plan?" She questioned with a pout. "You don't have some _winning her heart _thing going on? And here I was thinking you were the charming type."

"Emma's different." He said, shifting on his barstool. "She's...guarded...has these walls...pushes people out. I can't just _win her heart. _Life isn't some dumb fairytale, Ruby."

"So you're not gonna tell her or anything?" She asked in clarification.

"Oh yes, that would be a _wonderful _conversation." He said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "_'Hey, Swan. I know we argue quite a bit and you roll your eyes at me a lot but it turns out that I'm a little bit in love with you. How do you feel about that?'_ I think I'll pass."

Not to mention the fact that she would probably think he was just fooling around; two and a bit months of casual flirting - at, not with - tended to have that effect. He was pretty much damned whatever he did. The good natured quips and innuendo dropping - what he thought was just a bit of fun and a way to pass the time - had morphed into something completely unexpected, and at the same time had more or less vanquished any real hope he had.

He swore to god was _fine_ before she'd waltzed into his life; independent, content. And now look where he was: subconsciously pining after the blonde who rented his spare room. Gaze flickering up to the clock because he wanted her to get home. Finding a stupid amount of fascination in the little things she did; the way she put cinnamon on her hot chocolate, always, with no exception. The way she had a tattoo of a buttercup on the underside of her left wrist. The way they would be having a perfectly normal conversation, and he might actually feel like he was getting somewhere with her, and then her hand would find the swan necklace she wore around her neck and he swore he could see her walls rising up again.

And how on the surface she seemed perfectly happy, why wouldn't she be? She was young, beautiful, had a good job, her whole life ahead of her. And yet there were times when her façade slipped; when he could see that beneath the rock hard exterior. When he could see that there was someone dying inside. A desperate soul crying out, a want to be loved that both grew and shrunk with every waking hour. A need for affection matched by a crippling fear of anything like it.

How when he looked into her eyes, not only did he see fire, he saw heartbreak and abandonment.

And how he also saw himself.

"What are you gonna do, then?" Said Ruby, her voice bringing him out of his reverie.

He looked to the other side of the bar, gaze landing on a blonde with a glass in her hand - exactly the sort Killian would have gone for. But she was just kind of _wrong. _Her hair was the wrong shade of blonde, she was drinking some girly drink with an umbrella in it and wearing a dress with a plunging neckline that was just so _obvious. _

He sighed. "Haven't a bloody clue."

* * *

The five-day limbo between Christmas and new years passed quickly, the Christmas spirit dying away and morphing into the _wow - I can't believe it's been another year! _and _this is going to be my year, I just know it _cheer, one in which Emma had no real care for. People making crappy resolutions that never come into fruition, sales trying to squeeze as much money out of you as you can, the rush to join a gym so you can make good on your _I'm going to get fit this year _plans.

Sure, it was fun for some. Go out with friends, spend the night with family. But if Emma lacked two things it was friends and family. So, sitting at home watching the fireworks on tv, with a whispered _'happy new year to me'_ it was. Well, except this year she had her room mate sat on the other side of the couch; apparently he had nothing better to do either.

And as much as she was looking forward to reverting to her previous arrangement - which she definitely _definitely_ was (right?) - It was sort of nice - not that she would ever admit it - to not be alone for once.

They watched the preparations for the fireworks on the television, bottle of Jack Daniels being passed back and forth between her and Jones, looking at all the thousands of people gathered to watch them.

"Let's do shots." He said suddenly, jumping up off the couch and going to the cupboard to grab glasses.

"What's wrong with drinking from the bottle?" She asked, trying not to slur.

"If we drink from the bottle," he said, placing the glasses on the coffee table "We can't race."

Oh, so that's was this is. A challenge. Well, she never was one to back down from a challenge. "Oh, we're racing now?" She said.

"Do you have anything better to do on new years eve?" He asked, filling the glasses. She pondered this, the answer of course being no.

"Ready?" He asked, going to hold the glass. No, if she was going to get hammered with Jones she was at least going to make some money off him.

"Let's make this interesting." She said. "Ten bucks says I can drink it faster than you."

He leaned in slightly. "You're on." And he reached into his back pocket - not that she was watching or anything - pulling out a ten dollar note, tossing it onto the table. She did the same.

"Three...two...one..." And she brought the glass to her lips, pouring the whiskey down her throat, relishing in the burning sensation left in her throat, slamming her glass back onto the table but shit she was a millisecond too slow, his hitting the table just a moment before hers.

"Nice try, Swan." He said, snatching both the notes off the table and stuffing them into his pocket again.

"I say rematch." She declared, sharing out the last of the bottle between the two glasses.

"Sore loser." He said, but still going to reach for a glass.

And so the same thing happened again, the necking the drink, the slamming it down, except this time, Emma won.

"I let you win." He said, into her ear.

"Best out of three?" She challenged, but was cut off by the sound of the TV.

"And so the countdown begins! 20 seconds until the new year!"

"Oh great, here we go." He mumbled, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, turning his head, apparently sharing her disdain for the holiday.

_19...18..._

"Hey, Swan." He said, angling his body so he was more or less facing her.

"Yes?"

_16...15..._

There was a glint in his eye, lips curved into a grin. "You know there's a tradition associated with the clock striking midnight, right?" He scratched behind his ear, bringing his finger to his bottom lip, clarifying exactly which tradition he was referring to.

_12...11..._

Shove him away, Emma. Roll your eyes. Tell him 'In your dreams, buddy.'

"Please," She said, giving him an _as if_ sort of smile. "You couldn't handle it." She wasn't flirting. _That _did not count as flirting, because she was Emma and Emma didn't flirt, especially not with him.

_8...7..._

He leaned in further. "Perhaps you're the one who couldn't handle it."

Okay, maybe she was flirting. But it wasn't her fault, he was just _so _attractive and he had been nice, this whole holiday thing had been _nice _for a change.

_3...2..._

Emma had always thought that kissing someone when the clock struck midnight was an undeniably stupid tradition. She knew it had some deeper meaning, some _a promise to spend the new year with that person _bull, but no one ever went by that, did they? It was like pressure from society to find someone to kiss, eyes searching whatever party or bar you were out for someone single without a date. It was stupid. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. __  
_

But hell, she was drunk, he was sexy, and_ lord help her_ she felt like it. So she did it. She kissed him. And _holy shit_ what a kiss. She grabbed him by his shirt, pulling his lips to hers in a kiss that sent fire coursing through her veins, awaking feelings inside of her she _swore _she'd buried away a long time ago. _This is a bad idea _she thought as his lips moved against hers, his hand finding its way to the back of her neck in a way that screamed intimacy - something she steered _way _clear of - and yet he found herself doing the same; her hands clinging to the hair at the back of his head and in the midst of all this making out she found her drunken head thinking about how damn soft it felt. How the whole kiss felt. More importantly, how it_ didn't_ feel, and it sure as hell did not feel like the kiss of two people just kissing because it was midnight on new years eve, and that's what people do, apparently.

"That was..." He began as they pulled away, breathing labored, his shirt still balled up in her fist, and _oh so_ reluctantly she let go, letting out a deep breath.

"A one time thing." She said, heaving herself up, putting an arm on the sofa to steady herself, not looking back as she made for her bedroom.

"Happy New Year, Swan." He said.

* * *

Killian raised a hand to his lips as her door clicked shut as if somehow he could replace the pressure her lips had put on his, letting out a shaky breath as he took it away.

Her voice echoed in his ears, claiming the kiss to be everything he'd hoped it wouldn't.

_A one time thing._

Surely you can't just go and kiss someone with such an insane passion, let them tug on your lips and run their fingers through your hair and then proclaim it to be a one time thing.

Yet she had and even in his drunken state knew she wasn't lying. Because it was him and it was Emma and she'd made it pretty damn sure that nothing would ever happen.

If anything that kiss had made things worse; _now_ how was he supposed to look at her and not immediately think of her lips on his. Now how was he supposed to hold up a conversation without thinking about her hand on the back of his head, raking her fingers through his hair. How was he supposed to look at her, live with her, how was he supposed to effing_ breath_e. It was like drowning and suffocating at the same bloody time.

Just under three months he'd known and lived with her, and yet here he was, needing her like she was air.

Just a few months. That was what she'd told him.

_"Hey, Liam?"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"Define a few."_

_"Sorry?"_

_"A few. How would you define a few."_

_"Uh, two or three? Why'd you ask?"_

_"No reason, just wondering."_

A few months. It had been more than two, which meant, if she kept to her word, she'd be gone from his life not before long.

Completely gone. I mean, what excuse would he have to see her? She was a loner, no friends or family. They worked in completely different fields. Plus, she told him she liked to move around, had named all the places she'd lived in, a rare occasion where she'd actually shared.

_"Manhattan...Tallahasse...Chicago...San Francisco...and now, Boston."_

_"Favourite?"_

_"I liked Tallahasse."_

_"How come?"_

_"There was a beach."_

_"Why'd you leave?"_

_Shrug. "Got bored."_

_Lie._

So who knew where she'd end up, could be the other side of the country for all he knew.

Ruby was making Margaritas when Killian walked into the bar, smiling as she registered his presence.

"Hey Killy -"

"Don't call me that." He said for what he swore was the millionth time. And, for the millionth time, she ignored him.

"How was new year's with the room mate?" She asked, gaze fixed on the blender as she tried to lodge the lid in place, thumb waiting on the on the pulse button for when she did.

He rubbed his eyes as he sank into one of the stools.

"Okay - I mean - we kissed."

"What?" She shrieked, accidentally pressing the button before the lid was in place and sending margarita mix everywhere.

"Crap." She muttered, eyeing the mess for a second before turning her attention back to Killian.

"Forget the mess, you guys kissed?"

"Yeah, we were drunk, it was a new year's thing, didn't mean anything. Well, at least not to her..." He trailed off, his brother returning from where he'd been serving some people fries.

"What happened here?" He asked, watching Ruby swipe a paper towel across the counter in a valiant attempt to clean up.

"Killian and Emma kissed." She blurted out, red lips curving into an excited grin.

"Sure, tell everyone, why don't you." Killian muttered, running a hand through his dark hair.

"Wait, you guys kissed?" Liam repeated, curiosity playing on his features.

"Yes but it was a_ drunk-new-years-one-time-thin_g so if you could all _pleas_e stop acting like it was a big deal, that would be much appreciated." He said, his voice adapting a harsher tone as he finished the sentence.

"Someone's tetchy." Ruby muttered, tutting and shaking her head as she finally cleaned up what was left of the blender incident.

"I'm not tetchy." He said, the manner in which he spoke suggesting otherwise.

Ruby raised her eyebrows, face adapting an expression that could be compared to that of a reprimanding mother, and he sighed apologetically.

"Sorry, Rubz...I'm just a bit...confused. I...I don't really know what the hell to do." He admitted quietly. "Plus I can't shake the feeling she's avoiding me."

Killian tried not to make a habit out of stalking Emma's movements, but he was certain she was. It made sense, right? Someone with walls like hers, clearly with some underlying fear of intimacy, to avoid someone like him after something like that.

"Well that must be pretty bloody hard considering you share an apartment." Liam piped, his hand leaving the small of Ruby's back as she slipped away to serve someone.

It was true that she couldn't avoid him completely, but for the past five days she'd spent a lot more time hidden away in her bedroom. Supposedly she was working, an activity that was usually carried out on her side of the sofa.

_"If your job is finding people why do you spend so much time on your laptop?" He asked, leaning over slightly to get an idea of what she was doing._

_"My job is finding people who've disappeared. But, no one can just disappear, they leave a trail. A trail that's easiest to pick up online." She told him, her job being one of the easiest things to converse with her about. He supposed she considered it a 'safe' topic._

_"What trail are you following there?" He questioned, peering over shoulder to where the apple macbook was perched on her crossed legs. Her hair smells nice._

_"Credit card trail." She said simply._

_"You're looking at all the shit he's bought?"_

_"Yup." She said, switching tabs to where she had a map open, small markers showing up on certain streets, another added with a click of her mouse._

_"Anything of interest?"_

_A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Well, he's cheating on his wife, that's for sure." She said, waving her mouse about the part of the screen that showed the hotel room he'd booked out for an hour._

_"Sleaze. It'll be good to see his sorry ass in jail."_

_"Ah, superhero Swan to the rescue again."_

_"Piss off." She said, but he could see she was trying not to smile._

Ruby cocked her head sympathetically. "Drink?"

He remembered the days after Milah died, when it wasn't even a question. Sitting on the floor of their little house, drinking himself into a stupor. The comfort that lied at the bottom of the bottle, a few hours of numbness from the pain her passing had evoked.

He remembered jobs he lost because he didn't show up, getting evicted from the house and having to crash on Liam's couch. The huge pile of withering crap his life resembled.

He sighed. "Just a beer."

* * *

_Chapterrr 9! What did you think? TELL ME! This chapter was kinda hard to right, I'm trying to base Killian's thought process on how he was portrayed in 3.05 to 3.11, and trying to think what he would say if he'd had someone to talk to...so yeah, hope you liked :P. Thanks for follows, reviews and favs, much love to all of you (especially to the few of you who review every update, you guys are my favourite) until next time (which will be about a week, maybe less.) xx_


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer: I'm running out of creative ways to do the whole I don't own these characters thing._

_My muse for this chapter was Wake Me Up When September Ends by Green Day and Give Me Novacaine by Green day. Go. Listen._

* * *

_As my memory rests_

_But never forgets what I lost,_

_Wake me up when September ends._

* * *

Emma had never really understood the term _January Blues_. She supposed it was because she wasn't a Christmas or New Years person; to her it was just another month.

A month of bitter coldness and having to de-ice her car, frozen pavements that make chasing all that bit harder and frosty air that bites at exposed skin.

But still, not anything she hadn't had to deal with before the new year. If anything, Emma was relieved as the green and red adverts disappeared from the tv, as the irritating songs stopped blaring through the radio.

Nevertheless, waking up on the first of January wasn't what you'd call a pleasant occurrence for Emma. She had a headache that sat heavily on her shoulders and her back was aching from the fact she'd fell asleep on her bedroom floor, only dragging herself under her covers in the early hours of the morning.

And then of course, the memories of the previous night. Or memory, to be more specific.

Kissing him. Kissing him with a burning passion, finally letting out some of the sexual tension that had been just waiting to boil over. She remembered how soft his lips had felt on hers, his teeth grazing her bottom lip and tugging on her top. How his tounge had felt, coaxing her lips open and how _oh so_ ready she'd been to kiss him again.

But she couldn't, she knew she couldn't because kissing him again would make it more than just a one time thing, would imply it meant something.

Which it didn't. All it meant was throughout the three months that she'd lived with Jones the heat between them had been ever growing, lingering gazes becoming ever more lingering and those lips looking ever the more tempting.

Recuperated physical attraction and nothing more, at least that's what she told herself. She tried to ignore how much she'd longed to pull his lips back onto hers. How strangely _right_ it had felt, his fingers threading through her hair. The way she'd tilted her head to try and deepen the kiss as much as possible, trying to get as much of it as she could because she knew it would be her only chance, the only chance she let herself have.

She tried to be normal around him, tried to forget it had ever happened, but with each second she spent in his presence it became harder and harder not to let her gaze flicker down to his lips, to ignore the way he made no such attempt.

So she sort of...avoided him. A difficult endeavour, she knew, considering that they shared a living space, but she somehow managed it. Retreating to her bedroom to do work, trying not to miss the annoying remarks and questions that came from his side of the sofa, making her smile in spite of herself.

He appeared to notice, making good use of the time she did spend in his presence with his cheeky remarks and flirtatious quips, not a difficult feat considering he could make_ 'Alright there, Swan?'_ sound like a pickup line when it came with that shit-eating grin of his.

But there was still something else - she didn't know if it was what had happened that night or not - but there seemed to be a...change of air. Something Emma couldn't quite put her finger on. Perhaps it was the absence of girls running in and out of his life - one she'd only just begun to notice _(dry streak?)_ - or the unfamiliar glint in his eye when she spoke to him. The way she caught him looking at her all the time - the raw emotions swirling in his blue irises disappearing before she could identify them - replaced with a mask of indifference, maybe a wink or a smirk.

It was unusual - barely detectable in fact - and of a nature that prodded at her to retreat further back into her room.

A week went by before she properly came out again.

* * *

Emma's eyes fluttered open, flicking to her alarm clock._ 2:54am_. She briefly wondered what had prompted her withdrawal from sleep, mind still hazy and just begging her to fall back into dreamland.

But then she heard it again - a muffled but nevertheless loud cry - one that appeared to be coming from the other side of the wall. _Jones?_

She swung her legs over the side of her bed, pulling a zip up hoodie over her tank pyjama top before leaving her room.

Opening the door to his bedroom slowly - she was now pretty certain that this was from where the cry had originated - she took in the sight before her and couldn't help but flinch.

His face bore an extremely strained look, eyes shut tight as he suffered from what was clearly a horrific nightmare. He writhed slightly against the pillow, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead with his duvet balled up in his fists.

Another pained cry left through his clenched teeth and Emma approached the bed slowly; surely she need to do something.

She reached out a tentative hand, wrapping it around his fist and shaking it slightly in a feeble attempt to awaken him.

"Jones?" She said, shaking it slightly more. "Jones? _Killian?_"

His eyes opened and he sat up abruptly, expression awash with panic and desperation. One word escaped his lips; a name - one Emma hadn't heard before. So quiet she could've missed it. _"Milah?"_

"It's me." She told him, as his eyes darted around the room in an unresponsive manner. "It's me, it's Emma, it's Swan. Your room mate."

His eyes met hers and her heart clenched when she registered the devastation written across them.

"Swan, my room mate." He repeated quietly as his gaze moved down to his still clenched fists, his breathing laboured from what had just occurred.

"Swan who's bossy." He said, probably more to himself than anyone else, his current disposition similar to that of an infant.

"Swan who's bossy." She confirmed, relieved to see was finally recovering.

"But also sexy." He added quietly.

"Jesus Christ." She muttered (only he would flirt in a state like that), noticing his voice was hoarse and turning to get him some water. She moved her hand from where it was still on his but he stopped her, twisting his round so it grabbed her wrist.

His hair was tousled, his eyes bloodshot. His shoulders were hunched, his knuckles were white. He looked positively _broken._

"Don't go." He whispered, and she felt her heart twist uncomfortably in her chest. Gone was the cocky arrogant room mate of hers, the one who was flirty and trying his hardest to worm his way inside her walls.

"I'm just going to get you some water." She assured, him, carefully prying her hand from his grip and leaving the room. Letting out a breath she made her way to the kitchen, feeling slightly dazed from what she had just witnessed. Who the hell was _Milah?_ Emma hadn't made much of an effort to get to know her room mate - hell, she didn't even use his first name - but she'd never pinpointed him as a nightmare sort of guy and she found herself undeniably curious as to what had prompted it.

When she turned around from the kitchen sink he was standing in his doorway, leaning against it with a hand coming up to scratch behind his ear. He looked so..._different. _No smirk gracing his lips, no amused glint in his eye, no tongue coming out to run along his bottom lip as she shot back a retort to some comment of his. Instead he looked shaken, hair still a mess, face pale, feet shuffling awkwardly.

"Here." She said, handing him the glass as he went to sit down on the sofa.

"Got anything stronger?" He murmured as he took the water, voice still hoarse as he brought the glass to his lips.

She sat down on the sofa beside him, ignoring his comment and pulling up her legs to sit cross-legged.

"D'you...want to talk about it...?" She asked tentatively, and his eyes moved to meet hers and amongst the other emotions swirling there she registered surprise. Okay - so she wasn't the most sincere of people, and not really the sharing sort, but she had to say _something - _plus of course she wanted to know about what had just happened. Nightmares weren't out of the ordinary per say, but that was just so...intense.

"Dunno." He said without emotion, lowering his gaze to his knees. She decided to take it as a yes._  
_

"What the hell _was that?_" She asked, trying to keep her as voice soft as possible.

"A nightmare." He said quietly, picking at his fingernails.

"Yeah, I gathered that, but you said a name...you said -"

"Milah." He finished in a whisper, a look of anguish crossing his face before he brought up his hands, rubbing his eyes furiously.

"Who - who is she?" She inquired gently, having never heard nor seen any mention of any Milah. Then again, she hadn't really asked.

He sighed, an ambiguous reply falling from his lips; "Someone from long ago."

A small part of her brain told Emma to leave it at that, settle back into the couch, maybe get the _something stronger _he had referred to. But for someone as reserved and somewhat introverted as herself, Emma was a curious being, itching to probe further.

"Who?" She repeated.

"And why, Swan, should I tell you?" He replied, raising his head to lock his eyes with hers. "You never tell me anything."

_That's_ what this was about? Her not telling him stuff? She opened her mouth but shut it again, unable to think of a credible retort. It was true; she didn't tell him anything - well, nothing personal - she considered it a defence mechanism of sorts. Smart thinking.

"Okay, fine." She said, her desire to know more overriding her fear of revealing herself. "I'm an orphan. _There._ That's telling you something. Now who's Milah."

Surprise crossed his features, mouth setting into a thin line as he considered the information she had just delivered.

"Girl I was with...once upon a time." He told her, voice wavering slightly. He brought his legs up, sitting cross legged like her and shifting so he was facing her."How long have you been an orphan?"

"As long as I can remember." She said, trying to keep her features as schooled as possible. "What happened to her?"

His eyes clouded ever, his face a wash of darkness. "She died." He paused, probably trying to think up a new addition to the strange game of twenty questions they'd found themselves playing. "Adoption or foster system?"

"Foster system." She said. "How'd she die?"

He winced slightly at that question, giving Emma pause to regret asking it. "She was killed..." Pause. "What was his name?"

"Who's name?" She furthered, eyes narrowed.

"The one who hurt you." He leaned in slightly, taking full advantage of their face-on seating arrangement. "The one you loved."

"Vito." She said, keeping her face blank.

"You don't get to _vito._" He shot back, an answer she was fully expecting. Because that's the game they were playing. It was a dance; back and forth. You show me yours and I'll show you mine. Delicate topics and balanced inquisitiveness.

She gave her answer to the question she'd really hoped he wouldn't ask, the interest the answer to his prior question had ignited. "Neal. His name was Neal. Who did it?"

She noticed the way his fists almost clenched from where they were balanced on top of his folded knees. "Her husband." _Husband?_ She didn't have time to vocalise her shock before he spoke again. "What happened with _Neal?_"

Her reluctance to answer his prior question hardly compared to what she was feeling now; every instinct screaming at her to ignore it, stop what they were doing and return to bed.

"He sent me to jail." She said, the words tumbling from her lips, moving on before he had time to react. "What was with the nightmare?"

He flinched, clearly another painful topic. "Post traumatic stress disorder, apparently." He said, lowering his gaze to the space in between them. "I get them because her husband beat her..."

"And the screaming...?" She prompted, bending the rules by asking a follow up.

"Me screaming at her to run." He finished, voice breaking, pain lacing as features and he looked almost as bad as he'd done when he'd first woken up.

Emma had always considered her ability to read one's past was good, excellent, in fact. Much like her ability to read when one is lying; an ability that enabled her to know that everything he had just said was true - painfully so. And yet here he'd been - these three or so months that she'd lived with him - a broken soul and she hadn't even known it. But she could read him now. Just like a book, and it did read tragically indeed. His flirting and sleeping around, it was can act. A way to keep out pain. A façade, she'd know - she wore one too.

Without really thinking about it she reaching out her hand and took his in it, his eyebrows rising slightly at the contact.

"Sorry about Milah." She whispered.

"Don't worry about it." He dismissed, gaze moving up from their joined hands to her, their eyes meeting before his flickered down to her lips and she tried her hardest not to mirror the action. There was a moment where she thought he might kiss her - where her heartbeat quickened and for a second, _god _she wanted him to - but the moment passed and he diverted his gaze, realisation swamping her that this _wasn't supposed to happen. _

"What happened to her husband?" She asked.

"Tried to run, ended in a cop chase. He had a gun, cops didn't have a choice. They shot him." He said almost bitterly as if death wasn't punishment enough for this guy. Then again, she mused, it probably wasn't.

"How long ago?"

He paused, eyebrows knitting together. "5 years." Sighing deeply, he looked down as a sad smile graced his lips. "Didn't think I'd ever get over it." He looked up, eyes boring into hers, still red from earlier but the expression had softened. "Not...not until I met you."

_Shit. _He held her gaze and she held his, all of a sudden feeling every inch of space between them. _Shit. Until he met her_, what the fuck was he _saying? He had a nightmare. _She told herself. _Sleep deprived, drunk on...nightmares, some shit like that. _But Emma could tell when someone was lying and every word of what he'd just said was true and the way he was still holding her gaze suggested it was far from a joke or jest.

"Jones..." She mumbled weakly.

"Sorry." He agreed, ducking his head. "Earlier you said you went to jail. What...what was that about?"

"I wasn't aware we were still playing question time." She said, the sarcastic ring to her tone helping to disperse some of the tension that had built.

"Well we are and considering that _you _had a quick fire round, I get one too." He argued, and a solid one of that. "And I want to know about Emma Swan being sent to jail." She supposed it was fair game, as desperate as she was to avoid that topic.

"It was...it was him." She said, pulling her hand away from his to push a strand of hair away from her face. "He stole some watches, got close to me, framed me for the crime. I did eleven months...he got off scott-free."

"No wonder you're so bloody un-trusting." He muttered darkly, shifting so he was no longer facing her, resting his head on the back of the couch. Well, he certainly hit the nail on the head with _that _remark. It was true; Neal _was _why she was so 'bloody un-trusting' as he put it. He'd lured her into a false sense of security. Found the lost girl who was begging to be loved after a lifetime of being chucked about, having no one who cared about her. He'd used her own desperation against her, exploiting her, _using _her, sending her to jail for a crime he committed. _  
_

Emma had sworn she'd never let herself feel like that again. Feel that used_, _that _vulnerable. _She swore she'd never trust anyone again.

But still, now was...different. He was just as vulnerable as she was. He looked so small, like he was five years old. _How does one comfort a five year old?_

She thought back to when she'd been upset, when they'd watched films and drunk tequila and ordered pizza.

"Where you going?" He asked, eyes following her movement as she got up off the sofa and went to the coffee table.

"This came in the post the other day..." She explained, giving the Game of Thrones season one DVD a quick wave before opening it and feeding the disc into the player. "New tv show I'm gonna start watching."

She hopped up off the ground and went to the kitchen, grabbing the first bottle of liquor she saw and went back to the couch, picking up the phone with her other hand and chucking it to Jones - was it still jones? - Killian - and picking up the remote.

"Dial." She instructed, nodding to the keypad.

"Anyone in particular?" He drawled, arching an eyebrow. "Or are we doing prank calls?"

"We're ordering pizza, smart ass. That twenty-four place you know."

He nodded in understanding, obediently dialling the number before bringing it to his ear. Apparently, he remembered from last time, needing no confirmation before ordering a large pepperoni.

She relaxed back into the couch, turning up the sound as the tv blared in front of them, filling the dimly lit room with a white light.

And although she had - to an extent - let him in today, put a daring toe ever the line she'd drawn, Emma honestly couldn't bring herself to feel awkward or defensive about it.

It made sense why he hadn't pushed her that night, when he'd let her be. When he'd got drunk with her and ordered pizza. It was because he understood. He knew what it was like to have people bully you and coerce you; nagging you about if you're _doing fine_ or _are okay._

Perhaps that was why she wasn't pulling her walls back up. Why - even though she knew she would in the morning - right now, she didn't regret what she'd shared with him. Because the area around his eyes were still red, the emotion behind them still distant and lost. She knew the façade would return - as would hers - but right know, he was still broken, just like her.

* * *

It's easy to underestimate the power of a nightmare. _They're just dreams_, people say. When you wake up, you realise they're not real, and you're fine.

But it's different for Killian. It's different because they _are_ real. Milah _did_ die. They _did_ have a secret and broken relationship, the revelation of which resulted in her violent and cruel death.

The only thing that's different is in his dreams of that night - her cowering in the corner of their large estate, tears streaming down her face as she begs _I'm sorry_ while her arms come up to deflect his blows - which is that he's _there._

He wants to scream at her to run. To fucking run and for_ gods sakes_ never stop running. That's why he yells out in his dreams. He's not screaming for himself, he's not screaming out of fear; he's screaming for her to run.

When he wakes up, disappointment hits him like the cold on a harsh winters night. He's not in that house, hope of saving her still a flickering light. He's too late. She's gone. And she's never coming back.

_Post traumatic stress disorder_, the therapist Liam had pushed him into seeing had said, a diagnosis that did nothing to soothe him. Did nothing to stop him waking with his voice hoarse, panicked yells stretching into oblivion.

And empty apartment; sometimes he'd throw things. Anything that was one his night stand, really: glasses, ect.

Except this time, it's not an empty apartment. When he awakens from the emotionally crippling experience he isn't met with silence and the hum of loneliness, because she's there.

Hands touching his in an attempt to soothe him. Telling him it's her. _Swan, his room mate_. Her features laced with concern and for a second he can't help but stare. Admiring the little flecks of brown that sit amongst her green orbs, the pink hue of her lips as the bites nervously on the bottom one. The shade of her hair, the curve of her cheeks, the little dip in her chin and _bloody hell_, she's beautiful.

When she turns around he grabs her wrist, clinging onto it because he needed her; because for a second there, he was okay.

Somehow, she made him better. Made him better with how she went to get him water and then made him talk. Her desire to know more about what had prompted his nightmare temporarily overriding those fears that had stopped her from sharing before.

How she finally talked to him. Told him about that asshole Neal who'd sent her to jail, the one who was making his life so bloody difficult.

Told her about how she was an orphan - rather like him - and how she'd grown up in the foster system.

How they'd stayed up until the early hours of the morning watching Game of Thrones, drinking and eating pizza.

By end of the night, when he collapsed back into his bed, he'd forgotten all about the nightmare he'd had that night. Forgotten about the loss and pain he'd been put through. When his eyes drooped shut, he didn't hear her screams, he only heard one voice; a voice that chanted _Emma, Emma, Emma._

* * *

_Chapter 10! I'd say we're about halfway through here, if I can get this to 20 chapters. This chapter was difficult to write and gave me much feels...I tired my hardest to NOT include 'until I met you' but I failed...hoped you liked it :-) Another thanks for favs, follows and reviews *blows kisses*. If you haven't reviewed please do :-) tell me what you think, gimme suggestions/ideas, nag me for updates :-) Will try get next chap up asap! Until next time, darlings xx_


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer: Don't own this, don't own that, yada, yada._

* * *

It was interesting how bail bonds jobs came and went. Sometimes they were plentiful, earning money left right and centre. Other times, not so much.

That was the problem with a job that relied on the disappearance of wanted people, it by no means offered the steady income that a nine to five job would, hence the sudden need Emma had had to find a room mate.

Sometimes there were ups, other times down, and towards the end of January Emma found herself on an 'up'.

She pulled her laptop from the coffee table and up to her lap as she sat on the couch. It was something she did with every job; going onto her internet banking account, just a quick check that the royalties from her latests jobs have been transferred.

Looking at the account total shown on the screen, she then scrolled up to get an overview of her earnings for the past month or two.

By the looks of it, things had picked up, she'd made some good money. In fact, if she was reading the figures right, this was _get a place of my own like I said I would after a few months_ kind of money.

She was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of a key in the door as Killian came through the door, humming as he hung up his coat kicked off his shoes.

"Did they remember the fortune cookies this time?" She called over her shoulder, nodding to the bag of Chinese food he'd gone out to get.

He sank down onto the sofa beside her, quirking an eyebrow. "What - no,_ thank you Jones for going out and getting food_? You know, love, you can be_ very_ impolite."

"Okay - well, while you muse on _that - _go put Game of Thrones on, would you." She replied, shutting down her laptop and pushing it to the side, kicking up her feet and settling them on the coffee table while she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Oh look, she's impolite _and _bossy." He drawled, nevertheless going to do what she said, squatting to feed the next disc in the _complete series one _into the player.

She glanced briefly back to her laptop, train of thought flickering to the numbers shown there previously. She'd been adamant that this was just a temporary arrangement. She'd drilled it into her head. _Just a few months. Just until I have the money. _She had the money. She should tell him she'd be moving out soon; he wouldn't be surprised, she'd explained that she wanted to rent her room on a month to month basis. Even if they _had _slipped into a strange sort of friendship since that night - the word _friendship _being applied for want of a better one.

Finally working out which episode they had watched last - and therefore which disc needed to be used - he pushed play on the machine, jumping up and heading back to the sofa.

"Dumplings." He said, taking the box out of the bag and passing it back to her. "Chopsticks...ah, they did put in the fortune cookies." He chucked the chopsticks and fortune cookie to her and she caught them in each hand, opening up the box and delving right in.

She didn't have to decide anything now, right? I mean, he _was _charging pretty decent rent, and sure she could afford more, but no harm in some savings to fall back on. Plus, why the unnecessary hassle. She honestly couldn't be bothered.

"Something on your mind, Swan?" He asked, nodding to the fact she was staring intently into her box of dumplings.

She opened her mouth and shut it again. "No - well - yes -" She turned her head, meeting his gaze and he raised both his eyebrows expectantly. "You know how I said I was only gonna stay here for a bit?"_  
_

Unfiltered emotion flicked across his face. He masked it quickly- she'd give him that - but in her field of work one was trained to register the raw emotions that crosses one's face immediately after someone speaks, key for telling if a suspect is lying. She used it as a way to determine someone's weakness when out in the field. Killian was good at hiding it, but she could see for a second his reaction to that question...did he not want her to go?

"Hm?" He responded.

"Well if it's okay, I think I might stay a bit longer." She said, turning her head back to the tv, but she could see from the corner of her vision the way the corner of his lips turned up in a smile.

"Stay here as long as you like, Swan." He grinned, leaning over and speaking into her ear. "I know how much it would kill you to leave me."

"Piss off." She grumbled through a mouthful of dumpling, pushing him over to his side of the sofa.

_I just can't be bothered to move. _She told herself, stating firmly to herself that that was her desired reason for her stay. Looking at apartments, contacting real estates, it's all just such a faff. _That's _why she didn't want to move. And whilst she was pretty convinced that this was the case, there was a small voice at the back of her head, a tiny arrow that pointed towards the dark haired male sitting on the other side of the couch. The one who she was supposed to feel defensive around because they kissed - remember? - but who's company she couldn't help but find herself enjoying. Who was the closest thing she'd had to a friend in ages, despite the fact he could still be a massive pain in the ass.

He knew stuff about her. He knew about her childhood, her abandonment, he knew about _Neal. _Could be dangerous. He could so easily use that knowledge against her, it's what everyone else in her life had done, why would he be any different? When she'd kissed him she'd avoided him - shouldn't she be doing just that, right now? But there was this _something. _Something that told her he wouldn't use it against her. Wouldn't use it as leverage, like others had done. Perhaps it was because on that night, he'd been just as open as her. Just as vulnerable.

That was how they'd slipped into this strange routine. Getting take-out and watching Game of Thrones - his sarcastic comments and quips towards the plot lines rarely failing to make her laugh in a way she tried pretty hard to cover up (he really did not need a further ego boost). When he asked her how her day was she was a little more honest. The emotionless "fine"s turning into honest "Shit; I chased a guy three blocks and now I have a backache.", although the answer to the cheeky "I can give you a back rub if you like" was still a good eye roll and some variation of 'fuck off'.

"What does your fortune cookie say?" He asked, nodding to where it sat still wrapped in her lap.

She picked it up and peeled it open, snapping it in half and taking the thin strip of paper out from within.

_"Expect the unexpected." _She recited. "That's kinda lame...what does yours say?"

He leaned over, picking his up off the coffee table before doing the same. _"Nothing is impossible if one wishes it hard enough. _Wow - very insightful." He commented sardonically, but Emma didn't miss how he stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans as a pose to chucking with the rest of the rubbish. She briefly pondered if there was a task he considered impossible on his radar, but before she could give the matter much thought her attention was re-captured by the television.

* * *

Killian had always considered the term 'my heart stopped' pretty stupid and cliché. Yeah, sure, your _heart stopped. _But, when Emma mentioned her previous desire to move out after a few months, he swore to god it did. _This is it. She's leaving. She's going to move somewhere unknown and I'm never going to see her again. I'm pretty god damn in love with her and I'm never going to see her again. __  
_

He swore his heart stopped, and what's more, he swore it only started up again when she finished her statement. When she said she _wasn't _moving. And _boy _had that been music to his ears. It meant he had _time. _Time to get her to trust him, to get her to let him in a bit more, the kind of progress that had been made the night with the nightmare. Just a little bit more time with her constant swearing and cursing because why wouldn't her computer just _fucking work. _Time to witness her addiction to whipped cream and how sometimes she would just eat it straight from the can because let's be honest, she was a pig. Time for Saturdays where she wasn't going anywhere so all she'd be wearing was loose track-pants and a tank top and her hair would be all messy and she'd look a perfect mix of sexy and adorable.

_You're so screwed._

_Cherishing the time you sent in someone's presence_ was another cliché Killian had previously rolled his eyes at, and another situation in which he found himself eating his words. Because a week went by and he _did_ 'cherish her presence'. Even when she was grumpy and moody and muttering that he took fucking _forever_ in the shower and when she was holding up a finger as if to say _don't you dare _because it would be so easy to make a remark there. It was sappy and desperate but he couldn't help himself. She had said _a little bit longer. _So honestly, she was still a flight risk. Hence the romantic-comedy-type 'cherishing'. Because he knew he'd miss her if she was gone.

Hell, he missed her when she wasn't even gone for _that long._

The door clicked open, the sound of boots against the doormat provoking Killian to turn from the television.

Emma shut the door behind her, shrugging off her jacket and hanging it up.

The blonde had explained to him - when the questions had become too annoying to deflect - that what she did was actually much more tracking than actually chasing, although occasionally she was assigned a job which did require some of the latter. And when such an occasion arose, Killian noticed the dramatic change in her apparel. Where she usually wore jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket, today she was dressed all in black; a long sleeve t-shirt that clung to her figure, track pants that were tucked into lace up combat boots, her hair scraped back into a slick ponytail.

Jesus christ she was sexy.

She tugged at the band holding her hair in place as she walked into the living room, shaking her head slightly and letting the blonde curls fall around her shoulders, pausing as her eyes locked on the tv screen.

"Are you watching Game of Thrones without me?"

He turned back to the tv screen, the very offence he was being accused of blaring out.

"Sorry, I didn't know how long you were gonna be." He said by way of an excuse.

"And you're so impatient that you couldn't just _wait?_" She replied incredulously.

"Apparently so." He admitted with a shrug, smirk tugging at his lips as she rolled her eyes and went to the kitchen (like she did every time she got back from a job. It was either hot chocolate with cinnamon and whipped cream, peanut butter on toast or grilled cheese if she was really hungry).

She paused as she walked behind the counter, eyebrows shooting up. "What the fuck has happened here?" She exclaimed, raising her head and giving Killian an accusing look.

He frowned, heaving himself up off the sofa to get a look at what she was referring, a similar reaction falling from his lips as he rounded the corner of the worktop. An army of bubbles was seeping from the clearly very broken dishwasher, moving out slowly and creeping towards the oven.

"The suds again. _Wonderful." _He said, poking the mass of bubbles with his big toe.

She squatted, resting her elbows on her bent knees and examining the dishwasher as much as she could without submerging herself in the mess. "_Again? _Fucking fantastic. You know, I told you it would break if you kept stacking it like that."

"Oh - so now this is my fault?" He replied as she bounced back up.

"Well, I hate to say I told you so -"

"Please, Swan, you _love _to say I told you so." He argued, knowing it was perfectly in her nature, her lack of a response indication just how correct his statement had been. "Let's just clean this up and we'll go buy a new one tomorrow."

"_We'll? _Why do I have to pay, it was _your _dishwasher." She replied indignantly.

"So you're telling me that If I buy a new dishwasher, you won't use it?" He shot back, a hand going into his pocket as he awaited her response. She narrowed her eyes, a sure sign that a mental battle was playing out in her head. There was most likely a part of her that resented the idea of them buying one _together. _Why? Because he knew Emma, and he knew that doing something like that would suggest she was here to stay, even if she had admitted _just a few months _wasn't really a happening thing any more.

"How do we know we need a new one? It could just need fixing or something." She suggested, turning her gaze back to the appliance and reaching out for the handle.

"Emma, don't -" He warned but not soon enough. She pulled the door open and a huge mess of bubbles came falling out, spilling over the door and onto the floor, only ceasing when she kicked it shut again, biting her lip.

"Yeah, that's fucked. We'll buy a new one tomorrow." She concluded, kicking some out of the way and heading for the fridge.

She still didn't completely trust him. She still had walls, she still remained un-fazed by his remarks and flirtations. But she was _here. _She was here and she was staying, and tomorrow they were going to buy a dishwasher together. A small smile graced Killian's lips as he went back to the couch, rewinding the disc so Emma could catch up on the episodes of Game of Thrones he'd watched in her absence.

She'd still be pretty god damn hard to win over - still an impossible feat - but he was in this for the long haul, and it felt much more like _their _apartment then it did his, so maybe, she was too.

* * *

"I don't like the colour." Killian said, cocking his head to one side and giving the dishwasher a once over. "Too..._shiny_."

"Shiny? Wow - it's almost like it's _metal _or something." She replied sarcastically, his picky attitude towards the purchase of their new appliance appearing to get on her nerves.

They'd been at the store for just under half an hour, shopping proving not to be one of Emma's strong suits.

"How about this one?" The shop assistant asked, gesturing to the next one along. "Comes with a three year guarantee."

Emma looked to Killian with an expression that suggested she was expecting problem with this one as well. She was wearing her hair up today, blonde curls scraped back with loose ones falling around her face, her intolerant expression making her just that extra bit irresistible. _Yup. Definitely screwed. _Apparently the scrawny shop assistant agreed and Killian had fought back the urge to glare at him when he saw him - him being barely nineteen by the looks of it - admiring the way her jeans hugged her legs or the dip where her silky burgundy button up shirt wasn't completely buttoned up.

"Yeah, this one's good." Killian said, looking inside the dishwasher and briefly pulling out the top rack before pushing it back in again.

"Sure?" Emma asked. "Not too _shiny _for you?"

He let out a low whistle. "Someone's in a mood." He commented and Emma arched an eyebrow.

"Well _excuse me _for wanting to spend my Saturday somewhere other than shopping for dishwashers." She said, folding her arms across her chest.

"Well let's just get this one and _go." _He suggested, gesturing to the dishwasher, the price being within the budget they'd set on the car ride over, plus it looked robust enough - not that he was an expert.

She turned her gaze back to the machine, frowning at it and squatting for closer inspection.

"Ugh - it has one of those trays for cutlery." She said, straightening up and closing the door dismissively.

"And that's bad because...?" He prompted, confused to what the problem was.

"_Because _I don't like the cutlery trays, I like the cutlery buckets, like the last one had." She said, nodding back to the one he had proclaimed _too shiny._

"Is there a real difference?"

The assistant - who had been watching the encounter with a sheepish expression - thought it high time to chime in. "Uh - I think your wife is right, the trays can be a real nuisance."

"We are _not _married." Emma snapped, shooting Killian a dirty look as if it was all his fault that the boy wasn't the first to presume they were a couple.

"Oh, sorry." Shop assistant _Greg_ excused awkwardly, shuffling his feet.

"I asked her and she said no." He said aside to Greg - unable to resist the temptation - and Emma whirled around. He probably shouldn't have done that.

"I swear to god, I will punch you right now." She said warningly.

He held up his hands in surrender. "Come now, _honey. _Don't want to make a scene."

"Then let's get the shiny one, and _go home." _She said softly.

"If the lady insists." He said with a mock bow, one of her eyebrows cocked and lips pursed when he rose back up.

"You're ridiculous." She told him, turning to the wide-eyed assistant. "We'll take the shiny one."

He nodded before scurrying away to take down their order, leaving them to make their way to the cash register.

"Don't pretend, love." He said to her when he noticed the small smile her lips were tilted up in.

"Pretend what?"

"Pretend you don't enjoy the time we spend together." He finished, a comment that elicited a snort from her. He could tell it was fake.

"Oh yeah, _dishwasher shopping. _Let's make it a weekly thing, shall we?" She said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He smirked, speaking in her ear as she passed him to move further up in the queue. _"As you wish."__  
_

(The dishwasher came within the week, the delivery man making the same bold assumption that they were, in fact, a couple. Killian didn't know if it was wishful thinking to take it positively. He decided to do so anyway.)

* * *

Killian shut the door, slamming it slightly in an eager attempt to escape the cold that the lack of heating in the hallway provided, and a short cry emerged from the living room. When he looked up he saw Emma's head from above the sofa, shock written on her features with a hand clutching her heart.

"You scared the shit out of me." She breathed, turning her head back to whatever movie had her so on edge.

"What are you watching?" He asked as he walked into the apartment, amused smile playing on his lips.

She pulled a chocolate out of the box she had on her lap and popping it into her mouth.

"Saw; want one?" She offered, holding out the box without taking her eyes of the gruesome and violent death currently playing out on the screen.

"The last one?" He teased, taking it out and eating it.

"Don't think anything of it, I've got two more boxes." She told him, nodding towards the coffee table where sure enough there were two more bright red cardboard boxes, still in their cellophane.

"Any particular occasion?" He asked as he sat down next to her, feet coming up to rest against the coffee table.

"Valentines day." She said simply. "It was three for the price of two."

Ah - valentines day, that explained it. The flowers, the cards, the hearts in shop windows. It was generally a holiday Killian boycotted...well, had done since Milah. _By the looks of it I have someone to boycott it with.__  
_

"And I trust you have some cynical opinion on this holiday as well?" He asked as he reached over to get the second box, taking a chocolate out before passing it to her.

"Stupider than Christmas." She declared, mouth full, a comment that made him chuckle slightly. Of course she would express her disdain towards one holiday by comparing it to another.

They watched the film in a comfortable silence, Killian finding himself admiring the way she didn't even flinch as the scenes of terror flicked across the screen. _Tough lass, Swan._

"Can I've another?" He asked, nodding to the now half empty box that was sitting in her lap.

She reached into the box, keeping her eyes fixed on the screen as she picked up a chocolate and held it between two fingers for him to take.

Without really thinking he ducked his head, taking it between his teeth directly from her fingers.

"Jones, what the fuck?" She exclaimed as he munched happily. "Something _wrong_ with your hands?"

"Mm." He hummed. "Installing the dishwasher _really_ took it out of me." The delivery man had announced that _delivery _was the extent of his services, which had left Emma and Killian to push it into the cavity under the counter.

"Please." She scoffed. "I was doing most the work."

"Oh, really?" He countered, folding his arms across his chest. "You saying you're stronger than me?"

"I_ am_ stronger than you." She answered, a statement which - based on what he'd seen - was very likely to be true.

_When Killian walked through the door, the first thing he noticed was that the coffee table was pressed up against the TV._

_Emma was taking up the space screated doing one-armed push ups, tank top riding up slightly from the track-pants she was wearing. She paused mid-push when she recognised his presence._

_"Don't stop on my account." He drawled, moving to the kitchen but keeping one eye on her impressive physique._

_Pause. "Wouldn't dream of it."_

Still, he couldn't help but love seeing her all riled up like this, eyes hard with determination. If Emma Swan had a weakness, it was definitely her competitive attitude.

"Ten bucks says I could beat you in an arm wrestle."

"You're on." He said, accepting the challenge, jumping and going to the kitchen counter, Emma following him and going to the other side.

She put her hand into his, features laced with determination as she gripped her fingers round his.

It reminded him of the other night, when she'd took his hand in hers, thumb brushing over the top as a comforting gesture. He could tell from the way her mouth twitched that she was thinking of it too.

"Three...two...one..._go._" He pushed against her hand, trying tip it over the edge, but he was fighting a losing battle.

Her muscles were flexed, her bottom lip between her teeth as she pushed his hand down, slamming it against the granite counter top.

She met his gaze, smiling victoriously with her their hands still joined on the counter top. And_ god_ it would be so easy to kiss her right then. To lean over the counter and catch her lips in his, to graze and tug and nip and suck like he'd been just _dying_ to do ever since she'd kissed him.

Her cheeks were flushed slightly and he swore he saw her gaze flicker to his lips. _Holy shit._ He had never, _ever, _wanted anything more than he wanted Emma Swan in that moment, heat rising between them with her hair slightly ruffled. _I fucking love you. _

"You suck." She said as the moment passed, withdrawing her hand from his and holding it out to collect the money they'd bet, which he gave up, albeit a bit reluctantly.

"_Ooh, look at me._" He said in a poor imitation of her voice. "_I'm Emma Swan, I'm strong and I get satisfaction from taking money off poor unsuspecting people." _

"You're hilarious, you know that?" She said sarcastically, picking up the box of chocolates from the sofa and sitting down in it's place.

"_And now I'm gonna eat chocolate and watch scary movies." _He piped as he went to the fridge, pulling out two beers.

"Like I said, proper comedian." She quipped as she accepted the beer he offered, pulling off the cap with her teeth.

"Happy valentines day." She smirked, clinking her bottle with his sardonically.

"Happy valentines day, Swan." He agreed, taking a long swig of his drink.

* * *

For the first time in a long time, Emma Swan actually sort of enjoyed valentines day.

* * *

_Aaannnd that's chapter 11. The dishwasher mishap was an idea put forward by reviewer Revenessa :-) i decided to make this a more lighthearted chapter because *spoiler alert* there is angst up ahead. Valentines day because my muse agreed and also it's this Friday :P And again, thanks for favs, follows and especially reviews, YOU'RE ALL SO SWEET 3 Next chapter should be up quicker because school holidays next week *happy dance* OH and only three more sundays until end of hiatus, we can do it! Until next time, y'all!xx_


	12. Chapter 12

_Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or once upon a time but my birthday is coming up so that might change._

_Just a few things:_

_- this is the last chapter before the angst hits, so enjoy :)_

_- I don't know what Emma's taste in music would be so I decided to make her like the same stuff I do :P_

_- I strongly recommend listening to 21 Guns by Green Day before you read this chapter. At least the first verse. It will help._

_- 10 points if you find the Friends reference lurking in this chapter. _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Tires screeched and car horns beeped as Emma followed the object of her latest job out into the busy street.

She fought the urge to let out a humourless laugh as he attempted to drive away in the car. Some on-the-run guy he was; as if she _wouldn't_ clamp his car. Sometimes Emma found herself getting a little frustrated with the people she tracked down, I mean, if you were gonna embezzle and jump bail then for crying out loud don't start internet dating. _At least give me a challenge _she had thought as she'd clicked on his profile.

A look of horror crossed his face as he took notice of her work, a desperate one replacing it as he attempted to plead with her.

"Save your money." She told him. "Give it to your wife, go take care of your family."

"Oh yeah?" He sneered. "And what do you know about family?"

_Slap_. Well, that one stung. The same sort of sting that came with each _we're sending you back_. With each, _they'll send you back, of course they will -__ who would ever want you?_ Too many stings and you go numb.

Grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt she slammed him into the steering wheel, leaning against the car whilst he swayed limply in his un-concious state. It never hurt to get a bit - ah - _carried away_, when it came to sedating your subjects, Emma had always mused.

"Nothing." Came her honest reply, letting out a deep breath.

* * *

Emma leaned against the hallway as she slipped of her heels, tight pink dress hugging her curves with the bag from the bakery tucked under her arm. _Lord help me if any of the frosting's fallen off _she thought idly as she walked into the kitchen, pulling at the dress she would most likely never wear again. Funny that, that procuring the dress was the had been the hardest part of the job. It wasn't her fault shopping was the biggest pain in the ass _ever. _

_"Ugh - I hate shopping." Emma said, dropping the paper bag onto the floor and taking a seat on one of the bar stools, facing her roommate who was standing by the oven, pouring some penne into a pot of boiling water.__  
_

_"Mm...well, we can add that to list." He quipped, turning around to the cupboards and banging about, presumably looking for the tomato sauce._

_"The list?" She questioned, leaning over the counter to grab the bag of pasta, stretching her arm to add some more to the pot; she was hungry too._

_"Aye - the list of things that most people like but you hate." He answered. "So far we have Christmas, Valentines day and - my personal favourite - people."_

_"Shopping's the worst of them all." She groaned, bringing her aching foot up on the stool to massage it between her fingers. "There were people fucking everywhere and everything's so god damn overpriced."_

_"I know what you mean." He said, draining the now cooked pasta. "Ruby once insisted on taking me shopping. Never again."_

_"That bad?" she asked as he got out two plates and two forks - having realised what she'd done - and dishing out the meal having poured on the tomato sauce._

_He put hers in front of her and went round to sit in the stool next to her. "She tried to get me to wear a leather jacket that had 'boys will be boys' on the back."_

_Emma nearly choked on her pasta._

Approaching the counter, Emma pulled the cupcake out of the paper bag, ripping off the plastic for the packet of candles she'd bought and sticking one into the frosting.

She remembered making wishes on her birthday as a child, the content of most being a family who loved her - for her real parents to turn up.

For some reason she always imagined the mother being a brunette, picturing shot locks and a warm smile. She imagined her father having light brown hair and soft blue eyes, but, naturally, she'd given up hope of their reappearance a long time ago. There comes a point where you just give up. Counting the days until counting seems pointless.

She pulled a match from the drawer, lighting the candle before shaking it out and lowering her head onto her crossed arms, staring intently at the golden flame.

"Another _better year._" She mumbled as she blew out the flame. _I wish I didn't have to be alone on my birthday._ She pulled away the wrapper, stuffing half of the cupcake into her mouth, licking the extra icing from around her mouth.

"What, none for me?" Emma looked up to see Killian leaning casually against his door frame._ God_ he was sexy. Even in this state; hair slightly ruffled and grey track pants hanging low...Ramones t-shirt emphasising the way his muscles flexed as she moved around the room.

"What's the occasion?" He asked, leaning over to take a bit of the frosting from the top; looking at her from under his lashes as he licked it seductively of his finger. She rolled her eyes, trying to not let it affect her, turning around to access the liquor cupboard.

"My birthday." She mumbled, swallowing the remainder of her cupcake.

"Oh - well, Happy Birthday, Swan." He smirked and she raised the bottle of Jack Daniels to him as a sardonic _thanks_, bringing it to her lips.

"So you're wearing the dress because...someone threw you a party?" He questioned, wearing a frown that clearly said _that doesn't really add up._

Emma snorted, reaching up to get some tortilla chips from the cupboard. "Oh - yeah, because I have _so_ many friends."

"You have me." He said with a shrug, her mouth twitching with the smile that threatened to show.

"Mm, the arrogant British guy who eats the food I buy and drinks my booze." She played off sarcastically, stuffing a handful of chips into her mouth.

"Beggars can't be choosers, love." He pointed out, following her to the sofa and sitting on the other side. "Pray - tell me, dear - if the dress isn't for your birthday, then what's it for?"

"I had to work." She said simply, and he frowned at her.

"I know you said your job wasn't _all_ chasing..." He drawled "...but I'm slightly at a loss to what aspect of your job would require you to wear _such_ a tight dress..." He ran his tongue along his bottom lip while his gaze roamed her figure.

"Did I mention you were a pervert?" She asked, reaching to the floor for what she thought was her hoodie. It was only until she pulled it over her head that she realised it actually belonged to him.

"Oh - sorry." She said, looking down on the navy garment.

"Don't worry about it." He said, waving a dismissive hand. "Now what's with the dress?"

"Like I said - work. I had to set up a fake internet dating sight in order to get the guy were I needed him. This - " she gestured to her get up "is all part of the disguise."

"So you'll let some syco, bail jumping creep take you on a date, but you won't let me?"

"Not in the mood, Jones." She said in a tired voice, lacking the energy to procure any form of comeback.

"Come on Swan, ease up. Just a bit of birthday fun. It's not every day you turn..." He left the sentence open, waiting for her to fill the gap.

"Twenty six." She supplied, offering the bottle to him.

"And what have those twenty six years been like?" He asked, passing the JD back to her after taking a generous sip.

"Oh - fantastic." She said sarcastically, putting her hands into the pocket of the hoodie. _It smells like him._

"C'mon, love, don't be a hard ass. What's the story of Emma Swan?"

She smirked, keeping her gaze lowered. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"_Perhaps I would_."

She looked at him, eyes narrowed slightly, bringing her the bottle to her lips again. No harm in talking for a bit, right? He had called her his friend, after all. Plus, someone wanting to properly _know _her...well, it wasn't something she'd been used to. Ah, what the hell.

"Fine." She said. "What do you want to know?"

He shrugged, settling back further into the couch and bringing his arms behind his head. "What was the foster system like?"

Her eyes flicked instinctively down to the scar on the side of her hand, briefly feeling the white hot burn of the lit cigarette that had scorched her skin one cruel night.

"Crap." She replied honestly.

"Mm...I was lucky on that account." He said, a statement that gave Emma cause for confusion.

"How so?" She inquired.

"Well, Liam was old enough to be my legal guardian when I was orphaned." He...he was an orphan?_ Just like her._ Now it made sense. How when she'd first mentioned her lack of parentage and he'd given her a look that said _I understand. _

"What happened to them?" She asked quietly, turning and bringing her feet up onto the sofa, knees bent as to stay onto her side of the couch. "Your parents?"

"My mother died in childbirth" He told her, eyes darkening as he spoke. "My father left when I was fifteen." He did that thing again - the thing he did when they'd spoken about Milah - bringing up a hand to scratch behind his ear. And she saw it again, that side of him she'd seen the other night. The small side, the weaker side. The side that reminded her of herself.

"Why did your father leave?" She queried, only realising after she said it that If he was anything like her, he wouldn't have a clue in hell.

"Because he was an asshole." Killian sighed. "That - and he had a ton of gambling debts to escape." He lifted his head, mimicking her in the way her legs were arranged, sitting so the tips of their toes where almost touching. "What about you, Emma? What of your parents?"

"I don't know." She admitted, fiddling with the cords on the hoodie. "They left me on the side of the road just after I was born."

He picked up the bottle and leant back, his legs sliding forward slightly. "Well...to childhood screw-ups." He toasted mockingly and she chuckled, accepting the bottle after he'd taken a sip.

"Next question." He said, eyes finding hers again.

She raised an eyebrow. "Sorry, I wasn't under the impression you were interviewing me."

"Sure I am; favourite movie?"

She bit her lip, pondering the question. "Pirates of the Caribbean. The first one."

"Favourite...colour?"

She smiled at how innocent it was, despite knowing full well what he was doing. "Mm...Burgundy."

"You look good in burgundy." He smirked, eyes directing her to where her leather jacket was strewn.

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head slightly. "You can not go five seconds without flirting, can you?"

"Sorry, love. Force of habit." He excused with a small grin. "Favourite ice cream flavour?"

"Cookies and cream."

He frowned. "Cookies and what-now?"

Her eyes widened. "You've never had it?" She instantly felt sorry for the lack of vanilla and oreo goodness this guy had had in his life.

"No, is it good?" She nodded in response, making a mental note to pick some up the next time she went to the grocery store. "I'll have to try it sometime...Anyways, on with _question time starring Emma Swan and the_ _'arrogant British guy who eats the food she buys and drinks her booze'._" She just about managed to roll her eyes as she choked out a laugh.

"Favourite foster home?" He asked, the mood switching immediately as her mouth settled into a thin line. _To answer the question or not to answer the question. _She'd told the guy at the restaurant that she had no friends, that she was a loner. _Sexiest, friendless, orphan _he'd called her. Maybe she wanted to prove the scumbag wrong.

"The fourth." She said after a pause thinking back to the rather uncaring father in inexplicably dull red-head mother. The fact that those were the qualities that won the _favourite _spot only intensified the truth behind her 'nothing' that had come as a response to _Ryan's_ question.

"How come?"

"They stayed out of my way." She said simply, her eyesight once more drifting to the purple branding on her wrist.

"Which one gave you that?" He asked, nodding to where she'd been looking. She opened her mouth and then closed it again. Did she really want to do down that road? Things could get real deep real fast. _Sexiest, friendless, orphan..._

"The fifth...it...it was an isolated incident. I learnt not to cross him when he was drunk." She explained, trying to make it out like something that didn't break her and build her at the same time.

He gave her a sad smile, gesturing to the thin line that ran from the top his nose to the middle of his cheek. "I learnt the same lesson."

Her breath hitched in her throat, the small jolt she got from just being with someone who _understood. _It was a feeling she didn't know she'd been craving.

"Favourite band?" He asked, Emma noticing for the first time how weird and, well, intimate their position was. He was leaning against the arm of the sofa, legs bent and she was mimicking his position with her legs on either side of his. For a second she considered pulling her legs away but she didn't; the reality being that she was comfortable.

"Green day." She answered, taking the bottle back off him and bringing it to her lips.

"Favourite song by them?" He furthered, blue eyes fixed on her.

"21 guns." She supplied after some thought.

His lips curved into a small smile, resting his head on the arm of the sofa - and slipping slightly further into her space - eyes up to the ceiling.

"_Do you know what's worth fighting for..._" He began in a soft voice, and holy _shit_ he could sing. "_...when it's not worth dying for..._" His voice, it was - and there was honestly no other word for it - beautiful. Gentle and smooth and yet so full of emotion that she felt her heart clench slightly. "..._Does it take your breath away and you feel yourself suffocating..._"

When he brought his head back up, catching her gaze a small smile was etched across her face. "You can sing." She said quietly, and he hummed in response.

"Haven't sung properly in a long time." He whispered, the quiet whir of the washing machine and hum of the dishwasher audible as a comfortable silence settled between them.

Emma was the one to break it. "Would...would that be about five years?" She asked in a small voice, remembering the number from the night with the nightmare.

"Very perceptive of you, Swan." He smirked, but it didn't hold his usual favour as pulled his knees away from hers, tucking them under himself to sit cross-legged as he continued to sing.

"..._Does the pain way out the pride..._" She found his eyes locked on hers, boring into her, reading her, searching her. "_And you look for a place to hide..._" Hell, it was almost like he was singing _to_ her. "..._Did someone break your heart inside..._" Oh crap. He _was_ singing to her. "_...You're in ruins..._"

That's when she realised, he wasn't singing to her; he was singing to them. Because when it came down to it - really - they we both in ruins. They had_ both_ had someone break their heart inside and _god_ had it hurt.

There were a number of reasons why Emma kissed him then. One being the fact that he was - and there was no denying it - stupidly attractive and she'd been just _dying _to ever since new years eve. Another was the fact that by this point it was fair to say she had consumed a very large amount of the whiskey that had been going back and forth. Well, she'd had _some._ Or it could be the fact that it was her birthday and_ lord help her_ for once, she didn't want to be alone.

Either way, it still happened. She still slipped her knees under herself, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling his lips to hers.

"Emma." He moaned onto her lips, arm snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him. His lips moved intoxicatingly against hers, grazing, nipping, sucking and tugging.

"I thought...you said..._one time thing._" He grinned against her lips, pulling away briefly.

A small _"shhh"_ escaped her because that wasn't what she needed to hear. She didn't need him to talk, she just needed to _feel_ and feel because she was drunk and it was her birthday and she was tired of_ not_ feeling.

She pushed her knee into where his legs were crossed and as a response he un-crossed them, shifting so she was straddling him, dress riding up whist his hands slipped up the hoodie she was still wearing, settling on her hips whilst his teeth grazed her bottom lip.

_This is a bad idea. I'm definitely going to end up sleeping with him and I'm definitely going to regret it and - oh god he can use his tongue._

Letting out a frustrated groan she pulled the hoodie over her head, throwing it on to the floor before her arms found their way around his neck whilst his travelled south, gripping her thighs.

"My room or yours?" She mumbled, knowing by the meaningful glances she caught him giving her that he would not object to forward-ness in the slightest.

"Mine." He said, his grip tightening as he lifted them both up off the sofa, pushing them against the door to his bedroom whist one hand searched for the doorknob.

The same hand fumbled for the zip on her dress as he drove them into his room, lowering them both onto his bed.

Emma had always wondered what it would be like to sleep with him. When he'd walk into the kitchen minus a shirt and she'd stay as adamantly unaffected by it as possible until he'd pull one from the dryer under the counter. Or when he'd walk out the bathroom, towel hanging dangerously low on his hips.

She'd assumed he knew his way around - well, she'd heard it more than anything, even if he hadn't had anyone round since before Christmas - but _god._

No one had ever - not even Neal - been that good. Been able to make her arch her hips and curl her toes like that.

But she didn't miss his mumbled words...as she settled back into the bed, dragging the bed sheet over the two of them...mind hazy, breathing laboured.

Spoken so quietly one well timed duvet scrunch and she would've missed them. Those three powerful, crazy, terrifying words that she'd sworn on her life she would never speak nor hear again.

_"I love you."_

* * *

_Meep! It finally happened! Very sorry if you were expecting full-on smut but I can't write that, I'm nervous enough posting this :P Another BIG thankyou for follows, favs and reviews and if you haven't reviewed please do :-) Did anyone get the Friends reference? Until next time, lovelies! xx_


	13. Chapter 13

_Disclaimer: I don't own these wonderful peoples._

_WARNING: Angst. I cried a bit._

* * *

When Killian opened his eyes it was still dark outside. The quiet _vroom _of a car here and there could be heard but otherwise the night was silent; Killian mused it couldn't be later than 3 in the morning. He brought up a hand to rub at his head but his hands got caught in something; _Emma's hair. _

She was turned away from him, the duvet draped low enough to reveal the smooth skin of her back. Her hair was flowing around her, some fanned out on the pillow whilst some curls fell in front of her eyes.

Even in sleep she looked guarded. Shoulders slightly hunched, face hidden. She looked a vision of beauty nonetheless.

Killian should have been happy, right? About the previous night. He'd been able to kiss her and touch her and do all of the things he'd been craving and fantasising and dreaming of.

But that was last night. That was when she'd been drunk and upset - he didn't know what had upset her, only that something had - and he knew she'd wake up and most likely be spilling with regret.

Hell, _he_ regretted it. Because he'd known and lived with Emma for a good five months now, three of which he'd been helplessly in love with her (possibly more, it was hard to pinpoint an exact moment), and so he knew how she'd react.

She was a flight risk. A broken, untrusting, beautiful, flight risk and he was just so terrified that this would be it. The thing that would push over the edge, make her leave.

He looked again to the clock. 3:35. He inhaled deeply, praying to an unknown deity_ please don't take her away from me._

Feeling around for a strand of her hair, he twirled it gently in his fingers. He itched to pull her too him, to hold her. To just make her see what she did to him. But he knew from experience that she was a light sleeper. Instead he shut his eyes, letting sleep befall him once more, hoping - desperately hoping - that maybe she'd be there when he woke up.

She wasn't.

* * *

Emma blinked twice before fully opening her eyes, trying her hardest to adjust to the light the blinds only partially blocked. _I thought my room had curtains...oh._

As the post sleep haze finally cleared the realisation dawned. _I slept with him. Oh god, I slept with him._

Rolling over to lie on her back she raised a hand to rub at her head in a vain attempt to ease the headache that had come with her hangover, as well as trying to comprehend what the hell she had done.

She turned her head to look at him, the knot in her stomach easing slightly when her eyes landed on his face. He looked so peaceful. Eyes closed and features relaxed, chest rising and falling whilst he snored softly.

A part of her simply longed to stay in bed. To forget who she was, who he was or what would happen if she did. She just wanted to lift up his arm and sling it over her waist, to curl up into him and let someone just hold her in a way no one had done before (well - except _him_).

And _he_ was the exact reason why she didn't. Him, and a few others. She couldn't just stay with him, god, _think_ Emma. So she did. She thought about being tossed from home to home like an old toy that no one wanted. She thought about the floor of her jail cell and the feel of handcuffs around her wrists. She thought about _they're gone, and they're never coming back_. She thought about the swan necklace lying on her dresser, how she wore it as a reminder to never trust someone again.

Slipping out of bed as quietly as she could, she resisted the temptation to pull the bed sheet with her, not doing so for fear that it would awaken him. She picked her clothes up from where they were scattered, opening the door - _please don't creak_ - and sliding through the gap.

She felt immensely juvenile doing what she was doing, sneaking back into her bedroom, hoping not to wake the guy. Like some walk of shame.

She put on some fresh underwear, pulling on some jeans and a black tank top. _What now?_ She thought idly. She had some preliminary work to do on her latest assignment, but that was where the to-do list ended.

But she needed to get out. It was silly and again - quite juvenile - but she did really didn't want to be there when he woke up. On a regular day, she might've been able to deal with it. She would've called it a mistake, vowed not to do it again, but nonetheless her desire to run might not have been so great had she not heard those three little words.

That is, if she did hear them at all. She could have been mistaken, right? He could have said something else, or better yet, he could have not said anything at all. It could have been a figment of her hazy-post-sex imagination.

_He wouldn't have meant it, either way._ Emma mused, fixing the clasp to her swan necklace. It was probably all sex and endorphins, crap like that.

_Except that it wasn't._ A small voice in her head said. _You can spot a lie and that wasn't one._

She shut that voice down. He didn't, he couldn't. Because she was her, wasn't she? Emma Swan. The friendless orphan. Ten foster homes in total, she'd been put through. That's nine families who didn't want her, ten when you count her parents, wherever the fuck they were. Plus Neal, the boy who'd pretended to love her and only used her.

She wrapped the Swan pendant around her hand, shutting her eyes for a moment. _Remember what he did to you, Emma. The last person who claimed to love yo_u. She hadn't been able to detect the lie there, had she?

No, last night was a mistake. A drunken one night stand with her room mate. It had been a while, she was feeling good. It was a one time thing - _"I thought you said one time thing"._

"This time I mean it." She whispered to no one in particular, rubbing her temples. His voice rang in her ears, _the one who couldn't handle it_...she tried to talk a deep breath but the room felt lacking in oxygen..._perhaps I would_...she felt as if the walls were closing in on her.

Grabbing her red leather jacket from her dresser she fled her bedroom, picking up her phone, keys and purse from the side table in the hallway. She gave the apartment a fleeting look before heading out of the door.

_This is so stupid._ She thought, resting her head against the elevator wall. It was just sex. She'd got drunk and stupid, nothing more. She should be able to deal with this. She should be wanting to run - to hide - to _god dammit_ do it again.

It was meant to just be a one time thing._ But it wasn't_ a tiny voice in her head whispered, one which she tried her best to clamp down as the elevator doors opened to the ground floor. They'd talked beforehand, done the sharing thing again.

She tried to shut it out, getting into her car and turning the up the radio, but the voice was still there. Reminding her that last night had only made her realise how incredibly alike they were. The harsher aspects of childhood they'd both had to put up with - _I learnt the same lesson_ - and how just feeling understood for once had been a contributing factor to making the first move.

That's why she had to go. Because he brought back feelings she'd buried down a long time ago._ In jail_ she reminded herself. _That's what happened the last time you let someone in._

_I can deal with this. Just...not right now._ She turned the key, pulling out of the driving spot. In the car she stole from him. In the car he'd given her. The keys that came in the package as a constant reminder that he knew she was there. He knew, it wasn't a mistake and he was never coming back.

She'd been naïve. Blinded by love. And she'd sworn she'd never get close to letting that happen again.

Her eyes caught her gym bag which sat on the passenger seat, destination now locked in her head. A place where she could get some damn control._ I'll just go the gym for an hour or two. And then maybe grab some lunch. Cash those cheques I have to do._

* * *

This time, when Killian wakes up, she's not there. Just an empty space where she'd been lying. She must've been quiet as a mouse to not wake him (recurring nightmares tended to have that affect) which meant she had most likely made a concious effort not to do so. And that stung because we was certain it wasn't out of any common courtesy.

His eyes found the bedside clock again, the time reading just after ten o'clock in the morning. When he pulled himself out of bed, opening the door into the living room, he was hardly even surprised that Emma was absent.

Her keys and phone were gone from the side table, the hoodie - his hoodie - still strewn on the floor from where she'd yanked it over her head.

He groaned inwardly at the thought, rubbing his face furiously with his hands as he collapsed onto the sofa, as if he could stop seeing her. Seeing her in that dress, _not_ in that dress, seeing her bare and coming undone in front of him. Sights he wanted to see over and over. Skin he wanted to kiss every bare inch of, scars and freckles he wanted to memorise, pain he wanted to soothe. To just let her know _god_ how much he loves her.

"I'm so fucking screwed." He whispered to the ceiling. He scrunched up his nose. "Oh, Milah. If only you could see me now."

He thought of her, of what she'd say. Probably something about being whipped, maybe a sarcastic_ I never thought I'd see the day_ accompanied with that warm smile of hers.

He just wanted Emma to be back. Back so they could talk about what had happened. So maybe he could convince her to stay, to give him - _them_ - a chance. To repeat what he'd said last night, over and over.

Letting out a deep sigh he reached an arm behind him, pulling the phone out of his station and dialling the only person he could think of.

"Hello?" Ruby's voice chirped.

"Hey, Ruby, it's me." He said, scratching at his hairline.

"Killy! What can I do for you?" She replied, perky as ever in the way in which she delivered the nickname he so hated. He elected to ignore her just this once given the situation.

"Yeah - I'm just calling because..." He let out a deep breath "Because I slept with Emma."

"What?" She shrieked and he could tell from the sound of fumbling hands that she'd almost dropped the phone. "You - you guys finally hooked up?"

He winced at her excited tone, holding the one slightly away from his ear.

"Don't get to excited, Rubz, it's not as good as it seems."

"What d'you mean?" He could practically hear her pout.

He shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We got drunk again, it was like a one night stand sort of thing. She did a runner before I woke up." He looked around the apartment again as if checking that yes, she was still gone.

"Oh god." He heard her groan. "What are you going to do?"

"Haven't a clue in hell." He admitted, rubbing at his jaw. "I kind of...told her I loved her."

"You did _what?!_" Came the squeal of a reply and he pulled the phone away from his ear again.

"Geez, stop shrieking, would you? Dealing with a hangover over here."

"Sorry." Came the reply, and by the tone of her voice Killian deemed it safe to put the phone back to his ear. "So wait - you dropped the L-bomb?"

"There was no _bomb,_ Ruby. I don't even think she heard me." He said in a defeated voice, resting his head against the arm of the sofa. Exact same position he'd been in the previous night, actually. Except this time, without Emma's legs between his.

"You okay?" Ruby asked, her voice sounding sympathetic.

"No." He sighed, shutting his eyes. "I reckon if she was ever gonna move out, now would be the time." He paused, trying not to sound too pathetic and vulnerable, but let's be honest, he was fighting a losing battle. "I just...don't want her to go."

"You're gonna have to tell her, you know that, right?"

"Yeah." He mumbled. There was an old saying of his, a man who doesn't fight for what he wants deserves what he gets, and he sure as hell wasn't going down without a fight.

"Listen Killy, I gotta go, but good luck with Emma and may the force be with you."

He couldn't help but chuckle at her slightly eccentric farewell, a muttered "Goodbye, Rubz" before he put the phone back in its place. He used to be one for discarding it wherever but after a bashing from Emma - _"What's wrong with the phone?" "Oh, must be out of charge." "Why the fuck is it out of charge, did you leave it off the holster?" "..." "Jones!"_ - he'd learnt to keep it in its place.

The day passed by agonisingly slow. Cup of coffee. _Where's Emma_. Bite to eat. Bit of TV. _Emma?_ Go for a run. Come home. Still not back. Shower._ She has to come back, right?_

He tried to fill his day, doing all the little things he'd been meaning to do - work out why that one cupboard wouldn't shut, fix said cupboard, fix the virus currently bugging his laptop, replace that light bulb - trying his hardest not to think about a certain blonde. Trying not to picture her, to hear her. Hear her moaning his name, his actual name, not his surname.

Six o'clock rolled by and she still wasn't home. He briefly considered calling her, fingers dancing over the Emma Swan button on his phone, the contact he'd added before she'd moved in. When she was just a name on a piece of paper, just an applicant for the spare room he had. Now look where he was. He decided not to call her.

Six thirty._ Still not back_. Seven. _Not a sign_. Seven thirty. _What the hell could she be doing?_

* * *

When Emma finally found it in herself to come back to the apartment - or when she'd simply ran out of things one could busy themselves with - Killian was standing at the counter, coffee pitcher in hand.

"Hey." He greeted, Emma able to feel his eyes searching for hers as she moved into the room but she didn't relent, keeping her gaze lowered.

"Hey." She replied, sinking back into the couch. Noticing she was sitting on something, she pulled whatever it was from under self - his hooded sweatshirt. She slung it over the arm of the couch, trying not to think about how she'd thrown it off the previous night, how she'd been searching for as much contact as possible.

"You've been avoiding me." He said suddenly, the statement drawing tension so thick a dull knife would've sliced through it.

"No I haven't." She denied, a vain attempt, really. It was pretty obvious she'd been doing just that.

"Then where have you been all day?" He asked and she could hear the slightly pleading undertone to his voice. It pulled at her heartstrings slightly. _He'd really meant it, hadn't he? _No. Emma pushed that thought away.

"I went to the gym." She said, faking nonchalance as an attempt to cover up just how much the previous night was affecting her.

He cocked an eyebrow. "For the whole day? Well no _wonder _you look so good."

"Shut up." She grumbled, eyeing her laptop on the coffee table and picking it up. She was going to need a distraction if she was right about where this conversation was headed.

"I'm serious, love, why were you avoiding me today?" He hesitated, running an agitated hand through his hair. "What was last night to you, Emma?" The vulnerable streak that laced his words made her stomach clench and she knew that if she looked to him his facial expression would most likely resemble that of a lost puppy. Which is why she didn't look.

"Nothing." She replied, slamming down the lid to her laptop, finally finding it in herself to look at him. _Yup. Lost puppy, oh god. _"Last night was _nothing. _I was drunk, I was upset because it was my birthday, it was -"

"Nothing." He finished, suddenly finding a great amount of interest in the coffee mug that was resting on the counter, running his thumb along the rim. He put his hands into his pocket, arching his head to look at the ceiling before bringing it down to meet her eyes again. Even from her position on the couch she could see the emotion swirling there.

"Did you hear what I said, Emma? Last night?" He asked, voice wavering slightly.

"You didn't say anything." She gritted out, standing up with the idle intention to go to her bedroom. _Running away again, are we?_

"Ah - so you _did_ hear me." He smirked, pulling out one of the bar stools and sitting in it so he was facing her.

"_No, I didn't." _She repeated in the same restrained tone of voice. "You didn't say anything. Last night was a mistake -"

"I love you." He interjected in a raw and honest voice, tilting his chin up slightly.

"No, you don't." She whispered, turned away from him slightly. He couldn't just _say _that. Just tell her he loved her and in a way that suggested he was far from lying. _That's what they all say. _She told herself firmly, eyes flickering down to her swan necklace. _  
_

"I don't?" He repeated, sauntering over to her. "I don't...love how annoying and stubborn you are?" She didn't look at him as he stood in front of her, looking at the wooden floor beneath them like her life depended on it. "I don't love how amazing and strong you are? How funny and sarcastic you are?" He lowered his voice. "How beautiful and _broken_ you are?" When she finally looked up his eyes locked onto hers, the way in which he looked at her speaking volumes as well as scaring the heck out of her.

"No." She stammered, retreating by a few steps. "You don't. This -" She gestured to the space between them " - is _not _a thing."

"Fuck - Emma - You know, for someone whose job presents them with much scarier prospects you are _bloody_ terrified of your own feelings." He declared as she made for the kitchen in desperate need of a drink. "Possibly violent bail jumping guy charged with GBH? Easy! But wait - actually having to face the fact you might actually _feel_ something for someone? You - Emma Swan - are running for the bloody hills!"

It hurt because she knew he was right. She _was _feeling something for him, and god she _was _running. "You don't know what I'm feeling." She protested weakly, furiously trying to unscrew the cap to the bottle vodka she was holding.

He took a few steps towards her, leaning over the counter. "Oh, I think I do."

"Oh, yeah?" She challenged, gesturing for him to give it his best shot.

"I know that all this hard ass stuff, all this _I'm better off on my own stuff_, I know its all an act." He sneered. She narrowed her eyes.

"I know that you were hurt." He took a slow step in her direction. "I know you were hurt by someone you cared about, someone you trusted - this _Neal _guy or whatever the fuck his name was. I know that after feeling so betrayed, you decided the only way to protect yourself from pain was so block out anyone who get close to you. If you care about no one, you can't get hurt, right?"

"I also know that beneath the rock hard trust no one exterior there's someone else." He leaned in closer, hands curled round the edge of the counter and he was probably standing on his tippy-toes. "Someone begging to be loved again."

She paused, her hand still wrapped around the bottle cap that was still refusing to budge. She shut her eyes, trying desperately to just _get a grip. _Get a grip on how god damn _right _he'd been about all of it, about everything. She _was _terrified. Terrified of feeling, of being happy. Because happiness was limited, always limited. And what are you left with when it ends? Regret. She had enough of that in her life, she didn't need any more, hell, she was practically _swimming _in it. _What would of happened if my parents hadn't given me up? If I hadn't met Neal? If I hadn't given up- _No. Now wasn't the time.

"Shut up." She whispered, gaze lowered, eyes not meeting.

"So I was right?" He said, a satisfied smirk playing on his face.

"I said. _Shut. Up_." She repeated through gritted teeth.

"There you go again." He said in a slightly sing-song voice. "Being afraid of your own emotions."

"Just _stop it, _okay?" She snapped. When she looked to his face she registered guilt there. "I don't need you trying to _psychoanalyse _me. This - us - I can't, it's too much." She took a deep breath, stepping back and leaning against the front of the oven. "I didn't even _want _a room mate...I should've moved out ages ago."

"Then why didn't you?" He asked.

"I dunno, I couldn't be bothered to move, I got settled - "

"Sure there wasn't another reason?" He said raising an eyebrow. The fucking arrogance of that man - he was borderline self obsessed, she swore to god.

"What ever reason there was, it's not an issue any more." She hissed, registering the hurt on his face, even if he did do a good job of covering it up. "You know what? fuck this, I'm moving out." She pushed off the counter, pulling her jacket of the hanger and stuffing her keys and phone into her pocket.

"Yeah - well - maybe you should." He called after her.

"Maybe I will!" She yelled back, her voice dripping with anger. She was reaching for the latch to the door when she heard his voice. Quiet. Broken. Pained. Ten letters and she could practically feel her resolve crumbling.

_"Please don't."_

She paused.

"Why not?" She heard him approach, felt his presence; she was still facing the door.

"It's like I said, Emma. I'm in love with you. And although you may deny it, I know you feel something for me too." She turned around, placing a hand to his chest to maintain the small amount of distance they had between them.

"Maybe you're just arrogant." She whispered. Bull shit. Of course she felt something - in fact, she felt more than something, she felt everything: hate, anger, lust...

"I'll make you a deal, Swan. You look me in the eye, and tell me you feel nothing towards me. If you do that, then I'll let you go; you can go back to being _Miss Trust-no-one-I-don't-need-anyone_ and you'll never have to see me again. But - " he placed a gentle finger under her chin, lifting her head until her eyes met his " - you have to look me in the eyes and tell me you don't feel as I do."

God, his eyes. They were so blue. Not a cold blue either - they were enchanting, deep - she could practically feel him reading her. She said nothing.

"Time's up." He murmured before crushing his lips into hers, pushing her up against the door. Who was she kidding? She practically _did _love him. This whole time, the whole time she'd been living with him. He'd been working his way into her walls. Making her laugh in spite of herself. Making her feel understood and like for once, she wasn't alone in the world. And she was starting to fall for him, she knew she was. And that _scared _her. Scared her so _so _much.

Because the last person to make her feel this way had crippled her, left her pregnant and broke. Betrayed her, left her to rot in a jail cell for all he cared. If there was one thing that Emma knew for sure it was that people _hurt. _She'd felt like shit, when Neal had left her. She'd felt stupid and used, so incredibly _stupid _and it was a feeling she _knew _she had to avoid at all costs.

She put a hand to his chest, pushing his lips away from hers _oh so_ reluctantly.

"I can't do this." She whispered, a tear escaping from under her closed eyelid.

"Emma, please." He begged, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Let me in."

"I need to go." She insisted in a broken voice.

"I love you." He said again, brushing away a tear with his thumb and she shook her head.

"You say that now..." She let out a shaky breath "...but you'll leave."

"I'm not going to leave, Emma." He said, taking one of her hands in his as a desperate gesture. "Bloody hell, can't you see? Can't you see what you do to me?"

Her lip started to tremble as she pulled her hand away from his, shaking her head. "Everyone...everyone I've ever loved..." She began in a wavering voice. "...they've all left me. All my life I've been alone. Because that's what people do, Killian. They leave. My parents, foster families, Neal." She looked to the ground a tear falling from her eye, rolling down her cheek. "I had a chance at love and I threw it away."

"What?" He murmured, trying to raise her chin with his finger but she batted his hand away.

"My - my son. I gave him up for adoption." She looked up at him, raising her voice whilst more tears followed in the path of the last one. "See - Killian - I'm not who you think. I bitch and moan about my parents giving me up when I did the same thing to my own god damn son. I'm a hypocrite and a mess and once you see that you'll leave which is why _I can't do this._"

"Emma _- please._" He pleaded, trying to reach out for her but she dodged his grip, turning to reach for the door latch again, knowing if she stayed any longer it would all fall apart.

"I'm sorry." She choked out as she pulled open the door, turning to give him a fleeting look. He looked positively broken, as if he might start crying then as well. She hated doing this to him but she had to. For her own good. After all, she was the only one looking out for it. "I - I can't take a chance that I'm wrong about you."

She slipped through the gap in the door, ignoring the whimpered _Emma_ he let out and shutting it behind her.

A part of her simply longed to go back in there, to apologise and pull his lips to hers and for a second just not be broken. To tell him she loved him back and that maybe she could give them a chance.

But she couldn't. She couldn't because if she did it would mean she wasn't alone any more. And she needed to be alone. Alone was safe, it was all she had.

So instead she pushed back off the door, wiping the tears away from her face as she called the elevator, stepping inside and pressing the ground floor button.

_I'm better on my own._ She insisted to herself but whilst she had stopped crying on the outside, there was a part of her inside that was still going. Still crying. And god, it was crying his name.

* * *

_Chapter 13. I am very, very, sorry. Feel free to yell at me. Another thanks for follows, favs and reviews and sorry if there are any mistakes but I'm uploading in a hurry! Until next time xx_


	14. Chapter 14

_Disclaimer: Can anyone really bothered to sue me? Just in case, I don_'_t own these characters._

_Just a few things: Someone reviewed saying that Emma wasn't this stubborn in the show. I agree, but this is set before the show. In 1x21 Mary Margaret says "You're reverting, Emma, back to the person you were before you came here and I thought you'd changed." so I reckon that Storybrooke and MM and Henry was a big learning curve for her in trust, one which she hasn't had here, hence the angst._

_This angst isn't all my fault! A reviewer gave me an idea that I really like and fit it in I'm having to rethink the plot and make it more angsty. Sorry._

_This chapter was basically all written listening to Scouting for Girls. _

_WARNING: Much sadness. I cried again._

* * *

When the door clicked shut, Emma having just left through it, for a second Killian just stood still.

She was gone. She'd left. He'd told her he loved her, begged her to just give them a chance, and she'd left.

And the worst thing was is that he knew he couldn't be mad at her. Couldn't blame her. It wasn't her fault she'd had nothing but rejection and loss, just a stream of people discarding her and Killian felt a need to throttle them; a feeling not dissimilar to that when his Milah had been killed.

He kicked at the floor furiously, trying to find a way to vent some of this anger. The anger he felt towards all these people, these idiots who'd had her and just tossed her away. She deserved so much better. So much more, all of which he was willing to give her if _god_ she would just let him in.

_I have to go after her._ He thought, determination coursing through his veins. He ran a hand through his hair before going back to the door, flinging it open and not even bothering to check that it closed properly. He could be burgled for all he cared; the only thing he did care about was the blonde who'd just fled.

He stopped by the elevator, looking up to the number that indicated what floor it was currently at, watching as the number decreased. _Emma._

He pushed the button again and again with a slightly insane urgency muttering "_Come on, come on..."_ and groaning in frustration when the elevator didn't return.

Shuffling his feet, he tried to decide what to, eventually making his mind up and flinging open the door that lead to the apartment blocks stairwell.

He raced down it, trying his very best not to trip over his feet. If he could just get to her, maybe, just maybe, he could convince her to stay.

Breathing heavy, he reached the ground floor, banging at the push to open door with the same likeness as the elevator button until the mechanism finally allowed it to open enough for him to slip through into the car park.

The early spring air was cold and crisp, the sky beginning the descent into night time but the remainders of the days sun still present.

He scanned the lot, recognising the cars of the neighbours that she'd complain about profusely. That's when he saw it. Her yellow bug, driving out of the car park and onto the road. _God dammit._

He put his hands to his head, pulling at the ends of his hair as the car sped away, turning a corner until it was out of sight.

Letting out a frustrated _"fuck"_ he kicked a pebble along the concrete, turning back to the building.

Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands he leant back again the brick wall. He didn't remember feeling this simply_ frustrated_ and _desperate_ since Milah, when she'd have to cancel plans to do things her with her slimy crocodile of a husband, or when he'd beg her to leave him but she couldn't because of their son. God knows where he was now - Killian hoped he'd had somewhere to go. Hoped he didn't end up in the system.

He let out a few deep breaths, turning back to the building and heading back up to the apartment, the door still hanging open from where he'd stormed out.

He shut it, leaning briefly against the frame before going into the living room. _Get a grip, Jones_. Her other two leather jackets still hung by the door, her boots sitting below (the ankle ones, not the knee high ones - he was pretty sure they were the only pairs of shoes she owned).

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through his contacts till he came across hers. Surprisingly, her contact had a photo attached to it, and the corners of his mouth twitched at the memory.

He remembered being bored, Emma was doing something for her job, brow furrowed in concentration with her laptop open on her crossed legs. He wanted to watch Game of Thrones but she hadn't allowed it, said that they could watch it when she was done.

He'd been doing stuff on his phone, playing stupid games until he got bored of them until he'd found himself mindlessly scrolling through his contacts.

_"Smile, Swan." He said, holding up his phone to take a picture for her contact._

_"What - are you taking a picture of me?" She asked, trying to grab for his phone._

_"It's for your contact on my phone." He grinned, dodging her grasp._

He clicked to zoom in on the photo. She'd had her hair up that day, pulled back into a slick ponytail. She'd given up dodging the picture eventually, her eyes were back onto her laptop, the artificial light illuminating her face. In the foreground of the picture - which made him chuckle in spite of the situation - was her middle finger, a gesture he'd learnt she was quite fond of.

Deciding on the spot he pressed the call button, knowing he was dreaming if he was expecting an answer. It rang several times before cutting to voice mail, her message read in a slightly bored tone "You've reached Emma Swan. I don't check my messages so don't bother leaving one."

He sighed, ending the call and looking around the apartment again. Moving across the room, tentatively he pushed open the door to her bedroom, the one he hadn't been in since she'd moved it.

She'd barely changed anything; probably part of her insistence that she was only meant to be staying here for a few months. The bed sheets were a plain white, no photo frames resting on the dresser that had been there before. A few pieces of clothes littered the floor, a crappy alarm clock resting on the bedside table.

In a way, he drew comfort from the slightly messy state of her bedroom. It was a reminder that she did have stuff to come back for, even if she wouldn't come back for him.

And he was by no means giving up. He'd told her he would let her go, but only if she could look him in the eye. Look him in the eye, and deny any feelings for him. And it was a feat she hadn't been able to manage. Ergo, he wasn't letting go. He was in this for the long haul, one hundred percent.

She had to come back for her things, so there was hope. Hope that maybe he'd be able to convince her that he didn't care if she'd given up her son. Didn't care if she was wrecked and broken, he still loved her and he would still never leave her.

He moved further into the room, slightly resenting his behaviour as he collapsed onto her bed, her scent surrounding him. The scent he'd picked up in the shampoo she would use; kind of vanilla-ery. The scent that reminded him of last night.

He kicked his shoes onto the floor, moving his feet onto the bed.

It was kind of pathetic, but he needed it. Needed to know that she was still here, still in his life, because as unsentimental as she was she wouldn't just leave all her stuff here.

Hesitating, he pulled his phone from his pocket, re-drawing out her contact, this time pressing the message Emma Swan button as a pose to the call one.

* * *

Emma didn't really have a set destination when she pulled out of the building parking lot. All she really knew was that she needed to get away. The things he'd said...the things he'd be asking her to do...

_Let me in_...she couldn't. She'd spent over seven years pushing people away. Learning how to shut people out, burying the real her with layers of hostility and sarcastic wit because the real her was weak. It was vulnerable and weak and the weak get used. And she was so god damn _sick_ of being used.

Okay - say she did go back there. Say she went to him and apologised and let him kiss her and hold her and love her like he'd been practically begging for her to do. Say she slept with him again and when she woke up say she didn't sneak out. She didn't sneak out and she let him kiss her awake and make her breakfast and she let herself have the relationship with a guy that she'd only let herself have once.

She'd still spent all that time blocking out pain and in a way she really couldn't expect him to understand. She'd still have issues with trust and commitment and a fear of intimacy that runs deep in her veins and one that had vanquished any attempts at a relationship she'd made after Neal. He was right. She could deal with sycos and thieves and drunk drivers but emotions terrified her to the bone.

And that wasn't just going to go away. Wasn't going to disappear with a satisfying pop and leave rainbows and unicorn stickers in its wake. Scars don't just fade, it takes time. And even more so for Emma, because in reality, she hadn't let those scars heal. She'd scratched them and itched them and used them as reminders for why she couldn't let herself trust someone again.

It was a fear that ran too deep and it was holding her back. He wanted her to trust him and to let him in and she couldn't do that. She couldn't be the person he wanted her to be. She couldn't replace Milah and once he realised that...he'd be gone and it would be over.

So instead of doing a horrendously illegal U-turn, going home and telling him _sorry_ she kept on driving, wiping away the last remaining tears, checking into the first motel she saw.

She was pulling her credit card out her purse to pay for the room when she heard her phone ring, buzzing against her thigh. Shoving her card into the machine with one hand she pulled her phone from her pocket with the other and her eyes widened when she read the name on the screen.

_Killian Jones._

He was calling her - _shit,_ he was calling her. Why was he calling her? _Ignore it._ Her instincts told her. If she picked up that phone...heard that voice...god knows she mightn't have been able to keep it all together.

_This is better_ she told herself as she shut the door to her room, tugging off her boots and collapsing onto the bed. _This is good and this is safe, this isn't going to get me hurt. I don't need him or anyone else...I'm better on my own._

She felt her phone buzz again and her stomach gave an involuntary lurch when a message from him flashed up on the screen. It said one word and yet still she could read the underlying emotion, the pleading tone.

_Emma_

She flicked the lock switch on the top of the phone, rendering the screen black. _Ignore it._ She told herself firmly, reaching over to grab the remote from the bedside table and flicking on the tv. She knew she couldn't hide forever, I mean, all her clothes and her computer and other possessions - however few there were - were still at the apartment, and she'd have to go back for them at some point.

She looked at the digital clock that sat on the bedside table next to the room service menu and bulky phone. 21:06 SUN. Sunday, that meant that tomorrow, Killian would be going to work and she'd have the chance to pick up her stuff. Her phone buzzed again. It was him again.

_Emma_

She ignored it again. So he goes to work, she picks up her stuff...then what? Find a new apartment? Emma supposed she doesn't have a choice. She can't keep living with him after that. After he'd said those things, after she'd said those things. She'd go home, he'd be at work, she'd collect her things and maybe spend another night here while she does some apartment-hunting.

Her phone beeped again.

_Swan_

With a defeated sigh she slid the lock to her phone open, her fingers doing a little dance when she contemplated what to write.

_**What?**_

The reply came within a minute.

_Come home._

A small noise sounded in the back of Emma's throat - like a restricted whimper - and her heart lurched painfully as she read the text. He wanted her to come home...and _god_ she wanted to go home..._no_. That apartment couldn't be home anymore.

She tossed her phone onto the other side of the bed, trying to concentrate on the soap opera that was currently playing on the screen - the only thing playing on the hotel television. _Okay - so Sarah's husband is cheating on her with their son's therapist who is pregnant with the gay uncle's baby?_ She was just beginning to wrap her head around the fact that Nicole's dead husband's mistress had returned and was demanding money from her when he phone beeped again.

_Or just pick up your phone._

_We can talk about this._

_Please Swan._

God - would he stop? Couldn't he see she was doing this for him - for both of them. If they went down that road either way someone was going to get hurt. She was doing this for them, why couldn't he see? She picked up her phone.

**_Please stop texting me._**

There was a pause and even though it was a pause via text she could feel how pregnant that pause was. Hell - she could practically see him reading the message, face falling. Then her phone beeped.

_As you wish._

He didn't text again after that. The night passed at an agonisingly slow pace. She ordered room service, she watched crappy hotel television. Her phone didn't beep but she checked it just in case. He didn't text. Of course he didn't - she'd asked him not to. She chucked her phone under the bed and fell asleep on top of the covers.

* * *

When Killian woke up for a second he forgot where he was, wondering why his sheets felt slightly different and why he's still fully clothed.

It's then he remembered where he is, Emma's room, and how he'd ended up there. He'd been lying on his back with his phone between his hands, texting Emma until she texted him back. Asking him to stop. So he did. That's when he fell asleep, wrapped in her scent with a fist curled round her duvet covers.

Fatal mistake of course; whilst his clock had an alarm hers clearly didn't and when his eyes found the clock it was with a start he realised he was over an hour late for work.

He should get dressed and go in, make some excuse about the traffic being a nightmare or having a doctors appointment - _what if Emma comes when I'm gone._ It's for that very reason that he didn't go get dressed, instead dragging himself out of her bed and into the living room.

Picking up the phone and dialling his office he did his best hacking cough impression, telling them it would probably be best if he stayed home for the day.

He waited for her. He had breakfast, had a shower. He even watched two episodes of Game of Thrones in the blind hope that she might burst in, reprimanding him for watching it without her and making him re-wind. She didn't.

It was the previous day all over again, misinterpreting the tiniest of noises for the jingle of her keys or the scraping of her boots and turning to the door. It was never her. He waited all day and she still didn't come, the ticks of the second hand of the clock seeming worlds apart from each other. _Come home, Emma, please._

* * *

Emma cast another anxious glance to the clock on her car, letting out a frustrated groan when it read 1:30. _Why the hell hasn't he left yet? _The fact that Emma was parked on a street corner that gave a clear view of the apartment building - and the cars surrounding it - waiting for Killian to get in his car and go to work kind of spoke for itself. It was _Monday_ he had _work_ he should be _going _already. She just needed him out for a half hour so she could pack her shit together and they could both move on with their lives.

_Maybe I should just go in._ She thought, impatience and boredom reaching dangerous levels. But these thoughts were squashed down, replaced with memories of his voice. Him saying _I love you _more than three times and how he'd pleaded for her to stay. She couldn't go up there after that. She looked to her clock again. 1:35. Still no sign of movement. Hell, if he wasn't already at work he probably wasn't going to go. The though that he might be waiting for her pulled at her heartstrings.

Making a decision on the spot she pulled out of her parking space, heading in the direction of the nearest fast food joint. _Go out, get some lunch go back. If he still hasn't gone...well, there's always the motel._ Emma hoped it wouldn't come to that.

But, life's not all that fair, is it? When she returned, now full of calorific fast food junk, his car was still in it's usual spot. _Maybe he got public transport...? _Emma shook her head, knowing he shared her disdain for the trains that were always late and overpriced, over crowded bus rides. No, she knew why his car hadn't moved.

She ran an agitated hand through her hair, switching her car into reverse. _The Motel it is. _

* * *

Killian slept in his own bed that night, and so naturally, woke up to the tell-tale beep of his alarm clock. Emma hadn't come. All day he'd waited for her, praying, hoping, _dying_ that she might come back. He'd hardly slept at all, the thought she might sneak in when he wasn't awake, that when he woke up all her things would be gone...it was well into the morning before he finally passed out.

He strongly considered going back to sleep; pulling another sick day, waiting for her again. _Get a grip, Jones, this is your job we're talking about. _His boss still didn't like him and if he lost another job or got another demotion...he couldn't just sit around and wait for her like a lost puppy. No, he had to go to work. _When you come home she'll be gone..._a tell tale voice in his head said. He knew it was the most likely outcome but he honestly didn't feel he had a choice. If he didn't go to work then she still probably wouldn't come, hell, he wouldn't put it past her to_ wait_ for him to go to get her stuff. It was a notion that bit and he was once again faced with the overpowering compulsion to track this _Neal _down and give him a good beating or two. _Definitely two. _

Mind screaming with regret he pulled himself out of his bed, dragging himself into the shower. He let out a shaky breath, the hot water cascading down his back. He looked at her shampoo, sitting on the rack on the inside of the shower. Her conditioner, her shower gel. He knew they'd be gone when he got back.

Finally dressed and ready to leave, he gave the apartment a fleeting look. Her Laptop was sitting on the coffee table, her shoes and jackets still by the door. He tried his best to commit the sight to memory - the sight of her jumper slung over the back of the couch, her ID and handcuffs lying on the side table - because he knew that the odds were, it wasn't a sight he would see again.

He shut his eyes for a moment, breathing in a deep and shaky breath, trying to calm his frantically beating heart. It's often said that traumatic experiences can have long lasting effects on a victim. For example, the nightmares he suffered from. But Milah's death had another imprint on Killian. When she died, he cried. He cried his eyes out for what felt like days (not that he would know; days and nights, light and dark, they all just seemed to meld together) but after that...well, he didn't cry. He _couldn't _cry. But feeling as he felt now...closing the door behind him and turning the lock with his key...he swore to god he had to blink back tears.

* * *

When Emma returned the next morning relief flooded her as she noticed the absence of his car.

Yesterday, after turning around in her car she'd gone into town, sussing out the first internet cafe she could find. Here she'd sat down, scrolling through websites, looking for a new apartment. It was difficult because deep down, she knew where she wanted to live, and it wasn't any of the places showing up on the website. She briefly pondered leaving Boston all together. After all, she'd been there for around two years now. It made sense, considering she had always hated staying in one placed at a time, but she just couldn't bring herself to consider it as a serious option. Telling herself that she'd actually grown quite fond of the city, and that that was the _only _reason for her desire to stay, she'd continued apartment-hunting.

With the threat of more nights in the motel looming she'd finally found a place that looked borderline decent. A one bedroom, one bathroom place in a decent location. She'd even mustered the strength and motivation to drive down there, letting the land-lord show her around the place. It was _okay. _There was nothing particularly wrong with it or nothing particularly right with it. It would be fine, she supposed. So - pleasing the short, stocky and balding landlord immensely - she'd signed the lease.

And so the next day, with a new place to go home to, she got out of her car, making the familiar journey through the car park and up the elevator. She tried her hardest not to feel as if she would miss the place. The apartment was pretty much how she'd left it, and she made a beeline for her bedroom. _In and out _she thought, knowing if she stayed too long she might start musing over the fact that this was probably the last time she would ever see the place. She pulled the box she'd used when moving in to the place from the bottom drawer of her dresser, popping it open. She emptied the contents of the drawers in it, flattening her clothes down before doing the same to her bedside table.

She then dragged the box into the living room, frantically stuffing anything that was hers in. Her laptop, her handcuffs, her gun, her jacket, her shoes...maybe if she'd taken a little more time she would have realised that she'd left her Game of Thrones DVD under the couch, and that she'd accidentally stuffed his hoodie - the one she'd been wearing the other night - into the box with the rest of her things.

She did the same for the bathroom; shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, toothbrush.

Praying that she hadn't left anything important behind, she picked up her box, looking back on the apartment that had been her home for the past five or something months. She felt a tear roll down her cheek, and she wiped it from her face with the back of her hand, making a frustrated noise as she did so because this shouldn't have been affecting her the way it was.

"Bye, apartment." She whispered with a weak smile, closing the door gently behind her as she did so. She fished her key from her pocket, locking the door behind her and then twisting it over in her hands. Hesitating, she pulled from her box the notebook she often used to jot down notes for bail bonds jobs - (She'd come home once to find Killian flicking through it, chuckling at how much she swore in the scribbles and saying how he was _definitely _going to use some of the not so affectionate nicknames she gave the subjects of her job) - pulling a pen out with it. She tore out a page from the back of the book, tearing a strip off so it would fit through her metal keyring. Doing it carefully so as not to rip the paper she tied the strip in a not around the keyring. She then look the pen, hand shaking slightly as she did so, writing _Bye _on the paper. After a moment, not really thinking as she did so, she added an _x, _so the paper now read _Bye x. _She let out one last wavering breath before kneeling down, slipping the key under the door.

* * *

When Killian returned from work things had gone as expected. Her jackets were gone, so were her shoes. He stepped further into the apartment, taking note of all the absences. No laptop on the coffee table, no jumper slung over the back of the couch. Just an empty space where she once was, an empty space in his heart she would longer fill.

When he went into her bedroom everything was gone. No clothes in the drawers, no alarm clock on the bedside table. The only sign that she'd actually been there was the scent that still clung to the sheets on the bed.

He pulled at the ends of his hair as he moved back into the living room, the simply _empty _living room. It was so devoid of Emma and yet everything reminded him of her. He knew that if he clicked on the tv her Netflix account would still be there on the options menu. He knew that if he opened the fridge there'd still be whipped cream in there because _god forbid _they ever run out of the stuff. He knew there'd be cinnamon in the cupboard, Jack Daniels on the liquor shelf.

Tears were forming at the back of his eyes but he managed to force them back. That was until he turned round, spotting something by the door, something he hadn't noticed when he'd stormed in. It was her key - but that wasn't all. When he picked it up, turning it over so he could see the other side of the paper tied to the metal, written in black biro, it said _Bye x. _Four letters and Killian crumbled.

He sank to the floor, back sliding against the door as he did so, and did something he hadn't done in a very long time.

He cried.

And _god _did he cry. He cried for Emma and her blonde hair and her dry humour. He cried because she was gone and _lord help him_ he missed her already. He cried for being so desperately in love with someone he was never going to see again. He cried for the _x _she'd written after _bye. _He cried because being with her was the first time he'd felt like he was _living _and not just _existing. _He cried because that was gone. He cried for her, he cried for himself, he cried for _them. _He cried because having her around - having her as a friend - and finally starting to feel _whole _again had made him realise just how broken he'd been, just how broken he felt now.

He didn't know how long he sat there. Holding her note in his hands and choking out sobs whilst tears streamed down his face. He knew that it grew dark around him because he hadn't bothered to turn the lights on.

It must have been passed midnight when he finally dragged himself of the ground, making for the liquor cupboard and grabbing the first bottle his hands found. Tugging of the cap and discarding it, he collapsed onto the sofa with the bottle at his lips..._JD, Emma's favourite. _He drank the whole bottle in needy gulps, the bottom of the bottle being his only comfort. When it was empty he threw it as far as it would go, the glass smashing against the wall and staining it with the last few drops of whiskey.

He wanted to text her but he couldn't find his phone. He wanted to be with her but he didn't know where she was. He just wanted _her _in all her broken perfection.

But he couldn't have her. So instead he had _this. _This gut-wrenching pain that refused to fade, memories of her laughing or rolling her eyes and just being herself. All sights that he wouldn't - couldn't - see again. She was a bail-bonds person. She specialised in finding people who've disappeared. If anyone knew how to disappear of the face of the earth it was her.

His Emma.

* * *

_A/N: Mahahghghgh see why I cried? Uploading in a hurry so sorry for any mistakes. Thanks for reading and reviewing! Sorry this update was a lil bit late but SCHOOL. Until next time (things will get better!) xx_


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